The Flames of Belief (Renegades Saga, Book 2)
by Renegades Inc
Summary: The Emperor of Mankind has had a revelation while working in the depths of the Imperial Palace, and thus has allied himself with the four Chaos Gods - and the gods demand blood. The Imperium's loyal Space Marines are becoming monsters. But not all of the Space Marines are loyal. Written by gothik, 2011-2012. Takes place early 002.M31.
1. Introduction

It is a period of failing light. Warmaster Horus Lupercal observes dark changes in the Imperium of Man he serves.

For the nigh-immortal Emperor of Mankind has struck a grim bargain with the four Chaos Gods, eldritch nightmares thirsting for human suffering. The Space Marines, once the Imperium's finest soldiers, are turning into monsters. But questions remain, and the new course of the Imperium is clear to none. Loyalties arer in flux, shaken by each witnessed atrocity.

Eight of the Space Marines' eighteen Primarchs have renewed their oaths to the Emperor, and to evil. But another, Magnus the Red of the Thousand Sons, has seen the Emperor's new way with his psychic powers; and so he contacts the Warmaster, Horus of the Luna Wolves, greatest of the Primarchs, who is furious that the Emperor is subverting his authority over the Great Crusade. Three companies of Space Marines are sent to the planet of Venus IX, to test the veracity of Magnus's claims. What they find does not bode well.

A new path for the galaxy is open, paved with the ashes of worlds. The age of debate and enlightenment is over, but the dream of empire remains.

Only now, it is a black dream.


	2. Chapter One

The Emperor's inner palace rang with the sound of metal crashing on metal. Outside the vast doors that prevented entrance to the forge, there stood two mighty giants of the Morlocks, bodyguards of the Primarch himself.

They swiftly came to attention as the First Captain's footsteps approached, and their halberds came into their arms.

"How long has our father been in the forge?" The First Captain looked passively at the doors, but his question was directed to Brother-Sergeant Lennox, who stood to the left side of the great forge.

"Three days, my lord," the Terminator respectfully replied.

Gabriel Santar nodded to himself and opened the doors; the heat of the forge hit him straight away. Temperatures that would cause a human to dehydrate in moments merely caused a sheen of sweat on the captain's brow. He heard the ringing of hammer and anvil, and knew that his father was creating another perfect weapon or piece of armour to aid the Emperor in his endeavours. Gabriel, however, had his concerns about just what was being placed into his father's masterpieces. He saw darkness in them, particularly during his dreams. The voice - but it was just that, a voice in his dreams, no more, nothing compared to his father.

He moved to the forge area and fluently went to one knee; then he waited. He would wait for as long as it would take for his father to attend him. One did not disturbthe Gorgon unless there was a reason; and the only sufficient reason would be a summons from the Emperor.

After two hours, the Primarch of the Iron Hands emerged, his silver hands flowing (due to their mercury makeup) almost with a life of their own, almost as if something else lived in the hands of his father, beyond his own life-blood.

"Speak, my favoured son," the deep voice of Ferrus Manus echoed around the Imperial Forge.

"The lord of the Word Bearers wishes to speak with you, my lord," Gabriel explained. "I would not allow his First Captain to come himself and disturb you."

Ferrus chuckled, although it sounded more like the rumbling of the depths of one of the many volcanoes that covered their unstable homeworld; but then again, the fire of Medusa lived not only in them, but also in the Primarch that crashed into their world as an infant.

Ferrus' voice, as he spoke, was likewise deep, sounding like it was ready to erupt at any time. "Walk with me, Gabriel," Ferrus ordered. "Let me see what my orator brother has to say to me before we resume our part of the Great Crusade."

Santor did not miss the irony that dripped from the last words his father spoke; the Crusade was a true crusade at last. Word had reached them of Vulkan joining the Emperor's new path; but, when he had also heard that World Eaters and Salamanders had turned on those of their brothers that would not have followed the new law, he had made sure that all of the Iron Hands were loyal to the Emperor and their father.

He had no wish to kill a brother Iron Hand, and was extremely relieved that the entire Legion took the new oath; but then, he was also aware that many of the Iron Hands were loyal to Ferrus first and the Emperor next. Not that anyone had told the Emperor that; the details of what he had done to the Custode that had not agreed with the change in direction and who had, apparently, tried to send word to the First Primarch (as if the Warmaster would betray his father!) had gotten around the Emperor's circle.

Ferrus had suspected it had been done so that his sons, as part of this new crusade, would know what would happen to those who dared betray him or refuse him. Santor had not brought up what had happened with the Salamanders and the World Eaters. It was probably not the time or the place. And a First Captain did not dare voice his disquiet over fratricide, or over his father's words in his dreams. If it had to be done, it had to be done, and he could only thank the ancient Medusans that it did not have to be done in his Legion.

He walked alongside his father, and two of the Morlock Terminator bodyguards fell dutifully into place.

* * *

><p>Loken and Abaddon moved swiftly through the Vengeful Spirit, Ahriman at their side. They ignored even their own brother Astartes as they made their way to the Warmaster's strategium.<p>

All three Astartes had heavy hearts, and it reflected in their footfalls. What they had found went against all that the two Luna Wolves wanted to believe, and even what the Thousand Sons' First Captain had once believed. All three of the transhumans had hoped that, against all the wisdom of the Crimson King, for all his skills with the powers of the Warp (or the Great Ocean, as the Thousand Sons preferred to call it), he had been wrong, merely shown an alternative future that he had mistaken for their time.

The fact that he had not been had not made any of them feel any better. The Luna Wolves had expected Ahriman to crow a little about how correct the powers of the Crimson King had been; for they could be a proud bunch, these Thousand Sons, and in the eyes of their cousins they were frequently aloof.

But not this time; not now, when it was plain that a world had been lain to ruin at the hands of not just a fellow Legion, but the Praetorian himself, one of Horus's closest brothers.

No, the Warmaster was not going to like this one little bit.

* * *

><p>Lorgar waited until he was left alone with Ferrus, and the two brothers walked to the ramparts of the Imperial Palace. Both took some time to take in the views that this afforded them. Spanning half the world, it seemed impossible to most humans to even walk its walls in one lifetime, but to the Astartes, who were used to crossing such vast distances in the time it took the Imperial Army to even move half a day, it was nothing.<p>

Below, the newly formed Black Templars were constructing a mighty cathedral, alongside the Word Bearers, in dedication to the Emperor and Chaos Undivided. The Cathedral had been designed by Lorgar and fortified by Rogal Dorn. It was, indeed, going to be a splendid place to worship the Emperor. Lorgar himself felt vindicated at his father's words; and the sins of the Ultramarines against his Legion were forgotten, well forgotten, just as much as Lorgar forgot any slight against his belief. Monarchia's ash was gone at last. Lorgar was whole again.

For now, he was concentrating on becoming the spokesman of the gods and the channel between them and their father. He was concentrating on spreading the new religion throughout the crusade fleet, and the Lectio Divinatius was - even now, as he stood looking at the world before him - finding its way into the fleets.

"The cleansing of the Salamanders and the World Eaters is complete," Lorgar told Ferrus. "Did you need to take such measures?"

"I had no need to," Ferrus proudly stated, "for the sons of Medusa are not afraid of change, and will follow me wherever I lead them."

"There are those, Ferrus, who would say that your Legion does not follow the way of the Emperor so much as the ways of Mars," Lorgar carefully spoke.

It had long been suspected that the Iron Hands had more of an affinity towards Mars than was ideal, and that their outlook made them more like Astartes of Mars, rather than Astartes of the Emperor.

Lorgar, however, saw the truth of the Iron Hands not as something to be suspicious about, but something to be embraced. He leant forward and surveyed the lands before him. It was hard to believe that, once upon a time, a mighty ocean and a vast mountain range that was called the roof of the world had surrounded the very land that this mighty palace was built on.

"We hold a similar belief to the Mechanicum; that is all, Aurelian." Ferrus smiled a little and Lorgar nodded in thanks as his brother concluded, "As long as I breathe, brother, we will follow the Emperor."

"Then, my brother, I have need of you."

"Speak and it shall be done; but be warned, I am not a diplomat, although I am aware that, astonishingly, Angron managed to bring Vulkan into the fold."

Lorgar chuckled a little. "Yes, that was a surprise, but then Vulkan is a warrior of fire and Angron respects that, as far as Angron respects anything, and the feeling can be mutual. But though it is good that the Great Salamander joins us," he stood straighter "what I ask of you, brother, is that you travel to Mars and convince the Fabricator General that the new direction of the Omnissiah is the one for them all to take."

"That might take some time, brother," Ferrus warned. "We both know what he is like, and that he will expect something in return."

Lorgar rested a hand on his brother's shoulder and leaned in close. "The affinity the Iron Hands have with the Mechanicum is what will ultimately sway them to the new crusade; but if it does not, then…."

His voice trailed off, and Ferrus knew exactly what that meant. He would have to take whatever measures were necessary to ensure that the Mechanicum followed the new direction of the Crusade.

"Also my brother of the Forge" Lorgars voice seemed to change in cadence, like honey over silk "if they will not bow down to the master of Medusa and the Master of Mankind then the Iron Hands will have a new world to claim as their own for only the Iron Hands can do what the Mechanicum does"

Ferrus gave a half smile and bowed his head "It will be done brother"

He spoke into his vox bead and waited. Gabriel appeared a few moments later, carrying a large case, and held it as Ferrus opened it and reached into it, withdrawing a mighty Crozius Arcanum.

It writhed with energy, and the power that had converted Vulkan to the new order now seemed to purr in the master smith's hands. The head was the symbol of Chaos Undivided; Lorgar considered how it was inevitable that, at some point, other Legions would choose their own deities. It was already obvious that the World Eaters were heading in Khorne's direction. But Lorgar was a priest of the entire pantheon - including his father.

"For you, brother, so that none can dispute the authority you wield as the voice of the Emperor."

Lorgar was genuinely touched and hugged his brother. Lorgar had only ever believed that there was one brother he could count on in terms of confidence and closeness, namely Magnus; it had hurt him greatly that the Crimson King had ignored their father's summons. He had not expected this from Ferrus Manus; but as he held the gold-handled Crozius, he could feel the power of the warp course through the grip and into him. He, who was named as the Voice of the Emperor, was also the conduit of the gods.

He ran his hand over the metal, and wanted to weep at the carvings in ancient Colchidan that Ferrus had spent days intricately carving into the metal; the Gorgon had named the crozius Faith Bringer.

"Faith Bringer," Lorgar repeated as he tightened his grip on the handle, "and she will be."


	3. Chapter Two

Horus roared his denial at first. This was inconceivable to him; he would have expected word of this from Angron or Russ, but not Dorn. Not the Praetorian himself, who had guided Horus's hand at times and who had stood by his side when he was named Warmaster. His eyes glinted with the flint of anger, and the three kneeling Astartes flinched visibly at the Warmaster's fury. Only Magnus did not; but he wisely kept his own council.

Horus paced up and down, then stopped before the three Astarte lords. "Rise, rise my sons and my nephew, my anger is not at you."

Slowly Abaddon, Loken, and Ahriman rose and stared at a fixed point beyond the Warmasters shoulder.

"Which of you will tell me what occurred and how it happened?"

Abaddon nudged Loken, and the Captain of the Tenth stepped forward. He bowed his head to both Horus and Magnus and began his report, using the map that Horus had brought up on the holo-projector. Every now and then, the Warmaster and the Crimson King would interrupt to get more details, but they mostly let Loken finish his report; and, as a final nail in the coffin of proving it was the Fists, he set down the scouts' Legion symbol.

There was no denying it; Rogal Dorn had committed planetocide, and as Horus turned the Imperial Fist symbol over in his hand, he wondered what else was going on. He turned to Magnus, the unasked question in his eyes.

"I am sorry, Lupercal," Magnus quietly spoke, "but there is only one man who can order the Praetorian to do something like that, and as close as you and Rogal are…." He let his voice trail.

Horus clenched his fists and closed his eyes. He as good as had proof that Magnus' visions were correct, and that they were humanity's last hope. And a faint hope it was. "He's gone mad, locking himself away from me. From us," he corrected quickly, "but he has gone mad"

Abaddon cast a wary glance at his brother and cousin; the winds of change were in the air, and they did not smell good.

* * *

><p>The Khan strode across the field and clasped hands with the Great Wolf King. He laughed a little, and to those around them it was indeed a sight to see - Jaghatai Khan and Leman Russ striding across the field of battle together, laying waste to the xenos scum that had inhabited this world. It would be sung in the skalds' songs forever: the Wolf King and the Great Khan, side by side, smiting the Dark Eldar.<p>

"My thanks, brother." Jaghatai stroked his beard and looked around him. "When I realised you were in the area, I could not let the opportunity of warring with my brother pass me by."

Leman clasped a giant hand on his brother's shoulder. "It has been too long, Jaghatai. Your sons are still lightning fast?"

"As ever, brother."

"Good; then we have one more goal to achieve. The blasted Eldar's dark kin are holed up here." He scratched a crude map in the ground, and Jaghatai knelt beside him. "I will bring the Rout through the mountains to cut off their escape here, here and here."

"What about the gun emplacements that they have taken over? From what I recall, Perturabo himself built those encampments and redoubts."

"Who do you think told me the best way to take them down?" Russ smiled and his fangs glistened, reminding Jaghatai that even he, so often underestimated, tended to underestimate the Wolf King. "When I told him that he had lost warriors here to the blasted Eldar, I swore to him that the Khan and the Wolf King will destroy them."

Khan nodded once. To know that the garrison force from the 54th Grand Company's Iron Warriors were dead had disturbed the Great Khan. As moody and sullen as the Iron Warriors were, they were also great siege masters and fortress builders. How had they been defeated so quickly?

He shared his thoughts with Russ. "I will send Captain Sonsu and the 18th, who we call the Sand Riders, through this pass here; that should open the way into the underground passageways." He rested one arm over his knee. "Leman, has it occurred to you that that Iron Warriors might have been betrayed?"

Russ looked around him as if to make certain that no other could hear him or his brothers' conversation.

"Aye that thought had crossed my mind, as dour and humourless as the Olympians are they are not fools and would not have been taken so easily."

"But how? It would have had to be someone who was here and who saw how The Comrade built this; he built this himself," Khan gestured at the Bastion below them.

Russ was silent for a moment, almost as if recalling the battle. The battle of Elysian had begun when giant mutants had come from the mountains slaughtering all in their wake. They were xeno mutants, in fact, and therefore by the edicts of the Emperor they were to be killed twice over. The Iron Warriors, alongside the Dark Angels, had valiantly fought to bring the populace of this world into compliance and protect them from the mutants.

"The Dark Angels, it was one of the few times Perturabo and the Lion had fought together." Russ raised his head and arched a thick set eyebrow. "You don't think… oh, come on, I know the Lion is somewhat of an egotist, but selling his own brother out to the Eldar? What would that achieve?"

"I am not implicating the Lion himself in this," Jaghatai Khan said sternly, "and you are far too quick to do so yourself. Do not speak thus of him. But, brother, I have fought the Eldar on plenty of occasions, including the dark kin; they are opportunists, pirates, and extremely capable, but even they would not attack an entire garrison unless they had the odds stacked in their favour." Khan scratched his ear. "And the First Legion has acted strange as of late."

"It is always acting strange," Russ snorted, "and I was not accusing the Lion; but we will see either way. Let us get our sons together and attack these xeno bastards, and anything else can be dealt with later."

"See you there, brother." The Khan smiled, though with some concern as to how easily his brother had accused el'Jonson, and called his warriors together, leaving the Wolf King to do the same.

Elysian would not know what hit it.

* * *

><p>Constantine Valdor walked the former Himalayan peaks. He did this whenever he needed time to think. The commander of the Custodes, the Dread Guardians of the Emperor themselves, his most staunch protectors, he had never expected doubt to surface in those under his command.<p>

However, with the death of Husor for (of all things) trying to talk to the Warmaster, he had been hearing disquiet amongst the other Custodes. As the Chief Custode, he had served the Emperor far longer then any other of the Legio Custodes. With over 932 names to his honour, he considered the Emperor his friend as well as his master. It was rare for him to be away from the Emperor's side; but, just for the moment, he needed the air of the mountains to clear his confused mind.

Valdor was not a man to follow any man blindly, and the Emperor had proved his worthiness many times; but the actions, over the last few months, of not just the Emperor but also his chosen sons was cause for concern to him. Lorgar now spent more time in the company of the Emperor then even himself or the Sigilite, and in fact Malcador had retreated somewhere, altogether too suspiciously for Valdor's liking. But everything about the Emperor now was suspicious.

He respected Lorgar as a learned man and a skillful orator, but he had those damnable Colchidan theological obsessions. The Emperor was never a god, a very long-lived, powerful, and skilled man, but never a god. (He sat on the ground, ignoring the awestruck looks of the common people as they made their way under him and hurried off. It was humbling to see a Primarch, but to see a lone Custode was a rare sight indeed, and one that not many were keen on seeing.) Now Lorgar was his voice, proclaiming his religious doctrine with all the zeal of ancient Popes and the like.

Rogal Dorn… now, of all the Primarchs, with perhaps the exceptions of Horus and Sanguinius, he respected Dorn the most. He also genuinely liked Dorn and he had thought that, if any of them would've, he would have noticed that that this was turning everything upside down. Like himself and his Legio, the Primarchs were independent of thought. They had their own ways of doing things, and thus their sons were modelled in the same way; however, unlike the Custodes, the Astartes had a brotherhood, and he would have thought that Dorn would have fallen on that brotherhood and not followed the others into this – road to ruin. Instead, he chose to kill an entire world for the sake of a relic that was not something of goodness, but of degradation, amongst other things. If the Praetorian had even thought twice about his father's actions, with the creation of the Black Templars under the zealot Sigismund, any doubt was long gone.

He removed his helm and ran his hand over his mohicaned hair, his blue eyes surveying the world around him.

Fulgrim, the Phoenician, was always a bit 'effeminate' in his tastes, but that made him no less terrifying a fighter. He was forever seeking his father's approval and striving to reach the height of perfection in war and knowledge that he could never truly attain. As perfect as the sons were crafted, they would not and never could be on the same level as their father (so Valdor assumed). Anyone who told the lord of Chemos that, though, was subjected to the petulant ranting of a spoilt child who had his favourite toy taken away. He was a Primarch, but he had his goals and his aspirations, and it was always a source of pride to him that his legion was allowed to bear the Emperor's standard on their armour. Ambition and loyalty; for them, Fulgrim would, it seemed, do anything.

Angron... ah, now there was one who Valdor truly believed was rage incarnate. Whenever the Red Angel warred, it was a moment of farewell. Valdor could always see the simmering rage that sat deep behind the War Hound's eyes. It was a drug to him, and the more blood he spilt, the happier he was. Sometimes Valdor wondered if Angron was as sane as he made out. The Emperor had told him, once, to not make anymore of his World Eaters enhanced with those damned psychological implants, which had been completely ignored; before he went to war alongside Vulkan, the Emperor told him to continue with it, but using the enhanced design that allowed slightly more control in battle. Never had Valdor seen Angron so pleased with his father's choices; and that had scared the hell out of Valdor. Not much, in any lifetime, did that.

The Lion (Valdor shifted his position a little, causing some snow to dislodge and make its way down what was left of the ancient top-of-the-world peaks) was another matter entirely. Lion el'Jonson was indeed an enigma. Several days ago, he had sent the majority of his Terran born sons back to Caliban under the auspice of helping future recruits from Caliban; but he had also had some of his Calibanian sons sent back, as well as his surrogate father Luther. There was something not right there, and Valdor could not put his finger on it, but then again, if any man was capable of keeping his cards close to his chest it was the lord of Caliban. The Emperor had been somewhat annoyed when the Lion had returned with news that Perturabo would not be following any direction beyond that first set out for him, though his hope for the Lord of Iron had always been thin. He was also a bit miffed that the Lion had stepped on Perturabo's shoes on a battlefield, especially when he knew that this particular warfare, siegecraft, was Perturabo's specialty, and therefore contributed to the Comrade's anger.

The Gorgon had been a surprise; he had always done as was expected of him, but it was his close links with the Mechanicum that had ensured he would be chosen as one of the inner circle. Even now, Ferrus was on his way to Mars with his Legion, under the orders of Lorgar and the Emperor. Valdor shook his head and stroked his beard; Mars would not like this new turn of events, essentially simply because it made the treaty null and void. And by sending the Iron Hands, the Emperor was letting them know that he knew their secrets.

Then there was Curze. Even Valdor shivered at the thought of the Master of Night. The chief Custode pitied Curze as much as he felt uneasy around him; his debilitating visions made Lorgar's visions pale, but his need to sow the seeds of terror wherever he struck made him uncontrollable. Valdor knew, as soon as Curze had been brought on board, that the madmen had been let out of the asylum.

Somehow, in some way, he had to let Horus know what was going on; it was unlikely that the Warmaster would defy his father, and less likely that he could fight him, but he at least deserved to know of this pivot, and above all, of what had befallen Vulkan and the Salamanders. Vulkan was like a dead man walking; whatever had taken his soul into the power of the Warp entities had left him with no light in his eyes, just a darkness that seemed to encompass him and control him. He had taken it upon himself to fight the Eldar, dark or otherwise, wherever they may be; and the Emperor had allowed it, for no humans knew their ways better then the scion of Nocturne and his sons.

Valdor looked back towards the palace walls. Once, he had been able to be open with his old friend; now he had to guard even his own thoughts against one that he once trusted, the most powerful psyker in the human race. It was not an easy thing to accomplish.

The dream was over; but none of the other Primarchs knew it yet. With a heavy heart, he got to his feet and began his long and lonely trek back to the Palace. He did not know even what he was going to do, much less how he was going to do it. But the Emperor's madness was clear to all close to him.

And when the secret got out, a fire would rise. At least, Valdor hoped so.

* * *

><p>Ferrus sat, listening to the Fabricator-General of Mars. They had been more then welcoming to the Primarch of the Iron Hands, feeling that this Legion and this Legion alone was in tune with their ideals over machine and flesh. If they had been as close to the Iron Hands as they had assumed they were, they would have known they were wrong. The Gorgon nodded in some places as the Fabricator-General explained about new vessels being constructed for use in the Great Crusade. He had been shown the new plans for better armour and weapons ready to serve the living embodiment of the Omnissiah.<p>

However, when Ferrus explained that the Emperor was on a new course and that he would require the help of his Martian allies in a fashion that meant ceding much of their authority to Terra, things had turned a little sour. The mighty Primarch had been most apologetic, and it had amused Gabriel how diplomatic his father could be; he had apologised and said that things needed to be sacrificed and, unfortunately, at this juncture that meant the ancient pact with Mars would have to be be renewed.

"Preposterous!" Kelbor-Hal bellowed, "We signed the treaty in good faith, we have our autonomy and why would the Emperor even think of such a thing?"

Ferrus set his goblet, which seemed tiny in his mighty silver hands, down. He gently ran a finger around the rim of the goblet, his senses already letting him know the area where the vintage had been grown. "Fabricator General Hal," he politely began, "we are not saying that Mars cannot continue on its own course, but we are in need of everything that Mars has; and do not forget," he added with the full awareness that this would either win or lose the negotiations, "the Emperor did slay the Dragon whose technology you so pridefully keep secret." His eyes remained friendly, but the head of the Mechanicum did not fail to notice the slight flicker behind the façade. He considered the Gorgon's words. The Dragon was secret lore which the Mechanicum had never yielded to the Iron Hands' Primarch.

Kelbor-Hal narrowed his eyes a little and curled his lip in an approximation of a sneer, although, with all the replacements he had made to himself, it appeared rather more confusing than a simple sneer. "I will fight you; Mars remains loyal to Mars, and we will secede from the Imperium if this course of action is continued."

Ferrus got to his feet and, with a slight wave of his hand, the Morlocks behind him formed up.

"I am sorry to hear that, Kelbor; after all our years of aid to each other, I would have thought that you would have seen the wisdom behind the Emperor's, _your_ Emperor's, words and visions."

He turned and moved towards the door; and as he stopped, his Terminators opened fire on the council.

The Skitarii did not have time to react as bolter shells pierced flesh and the metallic components of men and machines alike. Santor flicked a switch, and the powerful guns that sat around the room opened fire, splattering blood everywhere. It was like an oil slick, and given that the fluids were mixed with brains and abundant grease, the metallic floor was even more slippery. Ferrus raised his hand and the shots stopped. He took a deep breath and stood over the dying Fabricator-General.

"Welcome to the new Imperium," he quietly said, and raised his foot. Then he brought it down on Kelbor-Hal's head with a sickening crunch of bone and plate. Ferrus glanced at the cog symbol, which had somehow survived a Primarch's foot, and turned to Santor, contemplating the fact that most of the Mechanicum's leaders had not been in attendance. "Go to all the forges on Mars; and if any of them refuse to follow the Emperor, you know what to do. If I have to, I will install the Iron Fathers as my own forge masters."

Santor bowed his head, trying not to think of the monstrous version of his father ordering Mars burned in his dreams, and, with a motion of his head, bade his Terminator squad follow him; already, drop pods were landing on the planet, as the Iron Hands began to attempt a takeover of Mars.

The Martian Schism had begun. Its shots would not be the first in the War of Eternity.

But they would be the first that were truly answered.


	4. Chapter Three

If the Dark Eldar thought they had seen everything the Imperium had to offer in the way of warriors, they were completely wrong. Their kind, though they were overall rare across the stars, had faced the savage Luna Wolves and the berserker World Eaters; they had fought the warriors of fire countless times, as for decades they had made Nocturne a prime target of their raiding parties, until losses became too unbearable for anyone to agree to those missions. They had even faced the wrath of Khan and his sons on numerous occasions; but nothing, nothing at all, would prepare them for what was to come from the Legion that was known as the Space Wolves to some but, to Fenrisians, was usually called simply the Rout.

To see them fight was to see war at its most brutal; the Space Wolves were never unleashed in all their fury unless it was needed, and this world needed it. They were the guard dogs of the Imperium, and many whispered that they should have come with a health warning.

'Do not apply except in case of extreme Armageddon.'

They fought like no other warriors the dark kin had faced before, but the xenos had little desire to face the Fifth either; and as the two Legions, the White Scars and the Space Wolves, made their way towards the bastion, they both killed everything in their path.

The two Primarchs could see the heads of the bastion's former defenders mounted along the wall. It angered Russ greatly that brave warriors, which the Iron Warriors certainly were, had been defaced like this. His brother may have been humourless and solitary, but he was still a warrior of renown and honour, and that was why Russ wanted to be the one to present the leader of this invasion to his brother. To prove to Perturabo once and for all that he was a valued brother. What the Iron Warriors lacked in humour, they more then made up for in siegecraft and bastion-building, and Russ knew well that these were not the Rout's strengths. The Lord of Iron was a strong potential ally, as well as a strong potential threat to the Imperium if his bitterness ever exploded (Russ hoped it never would, of course, but it was his duty to consider the unthinkable).

The Dark Eldar watched from the battlements as the Scars and the Rout cut down their warriors like they were knives through butter. And for every one of them they killed, there were plenty of dead Eldar at their feet.

There was, for instance, a group of Scars protecting a Wolf Apothecary as he extracted the gene-seed not only from two dead Space Wolves, but a White Scar who had fallen with them. The latter would be kept separate and would be given to the White Scars at battle's end so they could create the next generation of Astartes. Brother Sergeant Movar of the Scars glanced over his shoulder.

It did not do to hurry the Apothecary; such delicate work and rituals over the dead were important, and he had no wish to bring bad omens associated with the dead warriors. But he also had no wish to loose the Apothecary to a Dark Eldar shuriken.

He heard one of his men groan and turned for a moment to see Brother Chan fall to his knees, his hand ruined by several shuriken. He took his chainsword and cut that hand off, then got back to his feet. "I have another," he told his Sergeant, and carefully aiming, took out the Eldar that had taken his hand. He smiled in grim satisfaction as the xeno's head exploded in an spray of blood and meat.

Movar nodded once and returned his attention to the Apothecary. "Brother, whilst I acknowledge and respect the necessity of your work, we need to get moving; it would seem the Eldar are targeting you." Apothecary Heldengard turned his bare head to the Sergeant and grinned a little, his fangs glinting. He was a healer, but he was still a son of Fenris, and the Sergeant inclined his head a little. "My apologies, my friend," he smiled.

"None needed, Jaka." Heldengard got to his feet, his bloody work done, and glanced down at the bodies. "But there will be much more to do before this battle is over, and we will be interning many sons of Russ as you will be interning many sons of the Khan."

Movar made a sign of respect over the dead and, with his squad and the Rout's Apothecary, headed into battle once more.

* * *

><p>They thought they had seen it all, all the mon-keigh had to throw at them; they saw the humans as savages, fit only for slavery or sacrifice to their dark gods. But the gods of war that now strode the field of battle were another matter entirely. One of them, they had fought before, and Jaghatai Khan was a name that had caused dark eldar armies better-positioned to retreat to do so immediately; they had to admit, though, when they were safe in the heart of Commorragh, that their battles had been breathtaking, speed against speed, righteous wildness against sadistic civilization.<p>

But the other they were not prepared for.

It did not matter what they threw at him, he and his warriors took it all like wild beasts. Grappling with them hand-to-hand had been the worst mistake of all. For the warriors of Fenris cared little who their enemies were, only that their enemies died; and if they were to die themselves, they would die with the honour that death accorded one who fought with the rigours of a death world from the time they were born.

The Rout, commanded by their father, was indeed a sight to be seen and - if the Dark Eldar were honest, which they rarely were - a sight to be feared. The gold-haired giant that led them seemed to emit violence in a way that even they were not ready for. By his side fought two enormous wolves, bigger then any canids they had ever seen before; and when the wolves met them, they lost any chance to find competitors in the future. When he roared his challenge to the Dark Eldar, it was echoed not by hundreds of voices not even a thousand voices, but by twenty thousand voices, Space Wolves and White Scars both. Their savage roars filled the skies as a call to the ancient gods both Legions had left, but neither had forgotten.

In some long-forgotten times, it had been said that some warriors howled at a battle-brother's death, to let the afterlife know that a warrior was coming to the halls. This was a different case entirely. The Space Wolves were letting the enemy know that they were there, and the howl was quickly followed by other, even more violent noises: bolters barked, swords came to life, hammers caved skulls in, and chainswords ripped stomachs apart.

The Rout and the Scars had come to restore the honour of the Iron Warriors, and to reclaim a world for the Imperium; and it did not matter how many of them died to do that.

It would be done no matter what, and so it was.

* * *

><p>Russ crushed the face of a Dark Eldar under his boot and stood, surveying the carnage around him. The dead of both Legions would be honoured and, as was Russ's way, he would honour the dead of his brother's Legion with feast and song. He waited for the Khan to join him, and watched as Bjorn came towards them both. Khan stopped by Russ's side.<p>

"My lords, the xeno scum who led the assault on the fortress is inside." Bjorn bowed his head in respect and fealty to both Primarchs.

Khan allowed himself a rare smile; he knew that there was closeness between Leman Russ and Bjorn that marked Bjorn as one of Russ's favoured sons. He appreciated the honour Bjorn did him, as well. It was not often the Wolves gave respect unless they had to, no matter whom they were in the presence of; the exception, as went without saying, was the Emperor.

Russ looked down at the Dark Eldar corpse and cocked his head, like a wolf sizing up its prey; or, Jaghatai mused, like an alpha sizing up the threat to his authority. Russ was as brilliant as any of his brothers, but there was more beast in him than any of them. Even Angron seemed more civilized, though in that case it was far from a good thing. Jaghatai knew some counted him in the same breath as Russ, of course, but those people were mistaken. The White Scars were distant, no more.

The Great Wolf glanced at the Great Khan and stepped back. "Brother." He swept his arm forward. "You have experience dealing with these Xenos scum; so, should we take this someplace more… private?"

Khan nodded. "Take him to the Castellan's office," he told Bjorn. "We will deal with him there."

"Yes, my lord." Bjorn did as the Great Khan ordered.

And Jaghatai, as he slowly walked towards the ruined fortress alongside his brother, wondered at the scope of ruin. Was this the first time in the Great Crusade that Legion members had helped xenos over mankind? And what in the universe could possibly cause them to do this?

Russ was thinking much the same; but quite unlike Jaghatai, he decided he didn't truly want to know.

Looking back, both would agree that on that, Russ had been in the right.


	5. Chapter Four

The vessel floated dead in the vacuum of space; it was a sorry sight indeed to those that came for a closer look. The Endurance did just that, the human officers on the capital ship's bridge following the orders of giant that stood behind them. All that could be heard from him was an occasional intake of breath. The pale, gaunt giant leant on the railings of his post above the bridge and watched the screens intently. He hardly noticed the First Officer pass a wafer to the Admiral, who then read it and passed it to the Astarte beside them; to the extent that he did note it, he ignored it, for he would know that information soon enough.

Captain Kadox of the Fourteenth Legion's Fifth Company came to the side of the giant and bowed his head. "It is what remains of the Fire Mountain, my lord, a strike cruiser belonging to the Salamanders."

The giant took the wafer and read it, then returned his dark hollow gaze at the screens. His face was set in stone, and the only indication he was even alive was the breathing of the toxic Barbarusan air he took deep into himself. There was no hair: his head was totally bald, and there was no stubble to signify a shadow of a beard. Compared to his brothers, he was thin, and there were those who likened him to the mythical Grim Reaper. To many of the Remembrancers that travelled with the Death Guard fleet and had caught glimpses of the Death Lord in battle, he certainly fit that analogy.

Kadox inclined his head respectfully at the two Deathshroud and briefly wondered who they had been: had then even been brothers of his own company? Then he pushed the thoughts from his mind. It did no good to wonder: he would never know the Primarch's bodyguard. They would remain a mystery forever; all he knew was that they had been battle-brothers, and now they were the Deathshroud. Their names unknown and their previous lives foresworn, they never spoke unless it was to the Primarch himself, and even then no one else heard them speak. They were Mortarion's own elite bodyguard, utterly loyal to him and him alone.

Mortarion turned his gaze onto his Fifth Captain, and Kadox filled with pride as his beloved father's dark eyes softened, as they always did when he spoke to one of his sons in satisfaction.

"It says the vessel has suffered multiple attacks, from within and without, and that the engine room was destroyed prior to it exiting the Warp." Mortarion's browless eyes rose. "It would appear someone took great pains to ensure this vessel did not survive the Warp. Kadox, get twenty of your best and meet me in the hangar bay."

Kadox felt his chest swell with pride and his twin hearts hammer in his chest; he was going to be alongside his father, and nothing would have dissuaded him from this duty. "Yes, my lord."

"If someone attacked one of my brother's vessels, I want to know why. Ensure you have at least three Apothecaries with you, just in case we need them."

Kadox saluted his father, bowed his head, and went to carry out his orders. Mortarion returned his attention to the screens, and his grimmer visage returned. Some sort of death had come to the Salamanders vessel, and he wanted to know who they were obviously fleeing. In all probability, it was some sort of xeno vessel. The Fourteenth Legion, Mortarion decided, would teach whoever it was a lesson.

One did not simply attack ships of the Imperium of Man.

* * *

><p>The Castellans office was a mess to say the least. As Russ and the Khan came into the vast room, they took in the wrought carnage whose traces now lay before their gazes. Human warriors of the elements of the Imperial Army attached to Olympia's sons lay, decapitated, scattered across the floor. Several Iron Warriors lay slumped in corners alongside the human dead, and more seemed to have been moved out by the Eldar, for unknown reasons. Nevertheless, there were enough Eldar bodies to show that it had not quite been a one-sided battle. Khan motioned to Apothecary Sangor.<p>

"Collect the gene seed, to give back to Lord Perturabo," he ordered quietly.

"As you command, Lord." Sangor bowed his head.

"Bjorn, collect the tags of the dead humans," Russ ordered, "so that they may be remembered by their masters."

Bjorn nodded and pushed the Archon into a chair, the force such that he almost splintered the chair. Russ pointed to the Archon, and both the wolves with him sat to either side of the Dark Eldar. It was as clear to the Archon as it was to Jaghatai: if he tried to escape, the two wolves that Russ called brothers would ensure it was the last thing he ever did.

Jaghatai Khan took a long moment to look at his enemy. Like all the Eldar, there was an ancient elegance about the man, and he might have been handsome once, even in a human sense. Even now, the only sign of his age was the overly pale complexion that made even the lord of the Death Guard look tanned. His eyes were white, and his hair was a dark black that seemed to shine of its own accord. His teeth were filed to points, and he didn't want to think about the cloak the man was wearing, though think about it he did. It certainly did not look like cloth; more like skin. He had seen much in his long years, especially from the Dark Eldar, and so he was not particularly shocked. These xenos were the worst monsters, perhaps, of them all.

He likely spent much of his time in the blighted recesses of Commorragh, or some similar hidden city; and so he had not realised just how dangerous two Primarchs were, and did not retreat until it was too late.

Jaghatai pulled a large chair up and over, and sat across its back. He was no Alpharius, but he had spent a great deal of time with Vulkan and had fought the dark kin on his own, and he knew how to deal with this xenos scum. If Alpharius had been here the interrogation would have been conducted differently, but this was Jaghatai Khan's way of dealing with such quandaries, and it would bear fruit. The necessary knowledge would be recovered before he let Russ do what he obviously wanted to do with the xeno.

Judging by the expressions on the two wolves' faces, dinnertime sprang to mind; Jaghatai didn't need to ask who was the main meal.

"Tell me how you managed to breach this Fortress's defences?" he asked. His voice was quiet, and yet all the more powerful for it; there was no threat held within it, for threats were not certain to be fulfilled.

The Archon smiled, and his teeth glinted with caked blood and gore. He gave no answer except arching spittle that caught the Khan on his shoulder guard.

"And they call us barbarians." He glanced at his brother.

Russ snorted in amusement. "That is a compliment to me, brother."

Khan stroked his long, thick, reddish-black moustache, and for a moment seemed to be pondering the situation; and then, like a snake, he latched onto a gem-like object around the Eldar's neck. The Archon struggled a little, but the massive hands of Leman Russ pinned him to his seat, and a very powerful cuff round the head sent the Archon reeling. He was lucky the Wolf King had pulled his blow.

That was a hit that would have given an Astarte a headache, rather than killing them.

Khan turned the stone over in his hand and met the Eldar's gaze; although the Archon attempted to regain his composure, it did not work, and the Great Khan realised that this was what Vulkan had told him about years ago.

"Brother of Wolves," Jaghatai kept his amiable tone but directed it exclusively at Russ, though his gaze never once left the Dark Eldar, "we were told that the Eldar once ruled the galaxy, but fell to some sort of cataclysm within their own empire. Vulkan told me of the dark kin of these once – ahem – 'noble' Xenos. It would appear that, unlike even their cousins, they revel in excesses of pain, pleasure, and torment. When one is as psychically capable as they are, the death throes of a victim must be a particularly potent drug. He did, however, tell me that some among them guard these stones. Not all Dark Eldar have them, but they are important to those that do, for some reason or other; and judging by our friend's reaction here when I touched it, I would hazard to guess the Great Salamander was, as usual, right."

"Let go of it, mon-keigh scum!" the Archon snarled, spittle flying from his teeth.

"I am Jaghatai Khan, father of the White Scars, and this is Leman Russ, father of the – Vlka Fenryka," Russ inclined his head at the proper use of his sons' name, "we call them the Space Wolves; this fortress that you and your dying kind attacked was built by our brother Perturabo, father of the Iron Warriors. I will ask again: how did you get in here, and who gave you the means to do this?"

To emphasise his intentions, he closed his hand over the soulstone, not enough to crush it but enough to show the Archon what he intended to do.

* * *

><p>Footfalls echoed around the halls of the Fire Mountain as Mortarion and his sons made their way, slowly, through the corridors. Fires sparked and coils hung in ghostly tendrils. Holes in the bulkheads glistened as the shielding fizzed in and out. Kadox held his ornate bolter tightly to his chest as he scanned left and right, his duty to his Primarch coming before any other consideration. The pride he felt at being by his father's side was insurmountable, and yet he knew the consequences would be harsh should anything befall his father on his watch.<p>

The two Deathshroud moved to either side of their father. Their presence, although unnerving, was welcome.

Scenes of death and destruction were everywhere. Brothers Montaro and Fergo lifted a bulkhead off two fallen Salamanders. Mortarion stopped and crouched down. As the Death Lord, he had nothing to be afraid of. Mortarion did not fear death: he and death were close friends and allies, and his beloved Death Guard were the same. They were invulnerable to most things, and their reputation was well-earnt. This, however, was something else entirely. Kadox still thought the difference was the audacity of the xeno attack; Mortarion already knew better.

He reverently took the helm off the nearest Salamander, who Kadox identified as Brother Jenara. It wasn't the death of an Astartes that concerned Mortarion, for as the Emperor's Angels of Death it always had to come to that in the end, and even his own sons were not immune to death. It was the expression on the dead Salamander's face that gave Mortarion pause, and caught Kadox's breath. He touched his finger to the Astarte's cheek to feel tears there. He glanced at Kadox, whose face mirrored his father's expression. Disbelief and shock at such an expression on a warrior's face, when death in battle was what they all expected, were evident. This told of something else than a simple xeno attack, something less honourable; but neither transhuman could yet put their finger on it.

Mortarion said nothing and got to his feet. This death was pointless, that was what this told him; the Salamanders had been fleeing something or someone so devastating to even the hardened Astartes that they had cried.

Slowly, he moved on and came to a locked room. Handing his scythe to the nearer Deathshroud, he got his fingers between the doors and, with a couple of deep breaths, pulled the doors apart, with a strength that belied his slender frame.

Inside, there was a Salamander lying dead in the corner of the room, a large piece of the bulkhead embedded in his stomach; on the bed, there lay a human woman. She had been dead for a while, though there was no physical cause Mortarion could see - a psychic attack, it looked like. Indeed, the Salamander looked like he had suffered the same fate, even before the bulkhead collapsed. A human interested Kadox less than the bizarre fate of the Salamanders; but Mortarion saw there was something in her hand. Mortarion stepped over the shattered room and, gently despite his huge hands, removed the camera from her grasp. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned the image recorder on, then watched the images, most of which were downloaded from the ship's security camera banks before they had been destroyed.

Kadox would never forget the look of horror that crossed his father's face in those minutes; and although he did not speak of what he had seen as he flicked through the dead woman's imager, the shock was clearly visible in his eyes as well.

"Return to the Endurance," Mortarion ordered. "When we are aboard, I am not to be disturbed."

His tone brooked no argument, and the Astartes did as their lord and master ordered. Mortarion stopped the Apothecaries. "Take the gene-seed, but do not send it to Nocturne. Then have the bodies brought aboard the vessel. We will intern them when we reach a suitable world."

Completely perplexed, but not wanting to anger their father, the two Apothecaries did as he ordered. Mortarion glanced at the imager whose contents were forever burned into his mind, and felt sick.

The images of Vulkan, Angron, and their father dealing death to their own stared back at him.

* * *

><p>The Archon wet his lips and, with his serpent-like tongue flickering across his thin bloodless lips, considered his options. This mon-keigh had a set determination in his eyes that could not be denied. By his and the other savage's dimensions, they must have been two of the mon-keigh's so-called Emperor's sons. He had met one of them before, but in a different situation. He had come to the Archon of the Noble House Bloodblade in peace. He had promised him the spoils of human slavery and the pride of killing the warriors that resided here, but only if he killed every last one of them and agreed to work alongside the leader of these savages when the time was right. And the Archon had accepted, which he now regretted in the extreme.<p>

Now, well, now the odds had changed. All of his warriors had been killed, and if he were to return to Commorragh, then he would be ridiculed, or worse, be forced to fight to stop his House from being swallowed by one of the others. As for his own fate… well, what would be, would be. Anything would be better than not returning.

If that savage had even known what he held in his hand - though maybe he did; the determined glint in his eyes suggested as much. He should have switched to appeasing Slaanesh through the souls of his foes long ago, like several of the other houses.

"What makes you think everything you build is impenetrable to others, savage? I am Archon Venara of House Bloodblade, and there is no building I cannot defeat."

He found it distasteful to even speak their foul language, but he managed it easily enough, although the words sounded harsh on his tongue.

"Now, xeno filth," Russ whispered close to the Archon's ear, "if anyone else had built this bastion I would agree; but this fort was built by the artisan hands of our brother Perturabo, and no fortress ever built by him has fallen so easily."

"My brother speaks truth Eldar scum" Khan started to exert pressure on the stone in his hand "How did you destroy this bastion with all the warriors within in two days! Who helped you?"

Venara could handle whatever his home threw at him, but if that savage broke that stone then he would be helpless. It would almost be preferable if they simply killed him now. The fate that awaited him should that stone break, here in the material world, would be one that even a master of excess such as himself could not withstand. Somewhere in his mind, he heard the laughter of a Dark Goddess.

He had to cooperate; and what did it matter to him if they all tore each other apart? He cared little for them and what they did to each other. The universe would be a better place without these savages anyhow.

"The one called Lion," Venara smirked. "He sent a man to talk to me and show me the way in here."

Russ roared; and before the Khan could have stopped him, had he wanted to, he grabbed the Dark Eldar by the throat and lifted him up.

"YOU LIE!"

But the Archon's eyes were not pinned to the Wolf King and his own fate, but rather to Jaghatai Khan, who had tightened his grip on the stone. "No, please," he muttered, looking pathetic for the first time in many years. "I'll do anything -"

"Who let you in here?" Khan asked, his piercing gaze seemingly tearing Venara's soul apart even as his grip on the stone threatened to actually do the same.

"The Lion," Venara said, "but -"

Russ raised him above his head and brought him down, with a sickening crunch, across his massive knee. Khan heard the crunch of bone as the spine cracked and arched outward; the Dark Eldar's body fell to the ground in two pieces.

The stone in the Khan's hand began to glow as the dying Archon's soul moved from his body into the stone. Jaghatai's head, filled only with rage, could think of little but denial as the Khan closed his hand over the stone completely and squeezed. That was the one mistake that he made.

The stone not only splintered in his hand, but also sent out an explosion that threw the Primarch off his feet and across to the other side of the room, Russ with him. From somewhere around themselves, they heard the scream of the Archon, and then the sound of something else.

Something that was neither male nor female seemed to laugh with delight, and the Archon screamed in pure terror as his soul was consumed by whatever it was he had feared. The Primarchs ignored it, for they had their own revelation to face.

Khan got to his feet groggily and, with a pull, helped his brother stand. "He lied," Jaghatai whispered as his brother's wolves, Freki and Geki, came to Russ's side and licked his hands. "What he said, Russ, was a lie"

The Wolf King shook his head. "He had no reason to lie, Khan. Believe me, no one in his position would have lied."

Jaghatai scowled. "Do you even understand what you are saying?" he demanded.

"I know exactly what I am saying," Leman Russ stated, and the Khan saw the storm that raged within him just as much as in the Fifth Primarch, reflected in his eyes but otherwise concealed. "They could not have gotten in here so quickly, with such surprise, without help. And it would have taken the mind of a Primarch to see the weak points in a fortress the Lord of Iron built. I admit I have never liked the Lion, but thought him forever loyal; and yet I thought the same of both the unmentionables. And el'Jonson was always more cunning than those two. A third Legion has betrayed the Emperor, Jaghatai, or at the least has chosen to settle arguments with nephew-murder."

Russ leant back against the wall and met his brother's sad, but finally accepting, gaze. He said nothing, for there was nothing he could say.

The silence said it all.


	6. Chapter Five

Trees that had stood for thousands of years fell as both sides' explosives shattered the once pristine landscape; death had come for the forests that dominated Margolia II. For more then six weeks, the populace of this world had fought, with all their might, against the encroaching rule of the Imperium. They had not wanted their resources to be swallowed by the ever-hungry machines of the Mechanicum; but the fighting had already destroyed thousands of square kilometers of verdant forest.

This had just made the defenders despair more and fight harder, no matter how high the casualties were. But their determination was matched by the attackers. The Imperial Army's Santonian Infantry, 3rd Division, had advanced in the fashion their jungle-trained heritage had taught them to. However, as relentless as the mortal armies of this so-called Emperor were, they were nothing compared to the black armoured monsters that now entered the fray. Their armour was as black as night with white edges, and a white motif was etched on the left shoulder pauldrons. Mighty jetpacks sat against their back, so that when they flew, they looked like mighty birds of prey. Their gauntlets were sheathed in mighty talons that, when caught in a certain light, seemed to ripple with lightning.

The sight of the Imperial Army did nothing to the Margolians; they could fight the humans, for they were the same as them, if better-armed. The sight of the armoured monsters descending from the skies, like the gods of old, caused every man, Imperial and enemy alike, to almost loose their mind.

But even they were nothing compared to the titan that came down first.

He was a giant, his skin pale, and his hair a dark black with eyes of coal; he glared at the rebels with a cold, hard stare that seemed to go right through them. His armour was of the darkest black, and what looked like two mighty wings of steel erupted from his jet pack. If the armoured warriors with him were gods, then this being was beyond even that. Two mighty talons sat on his hands, bigger then even those of his sons; and when he spoke, it was with the voice of power.

"Do you yield?" was all he said.

His reply was thousands of men suddenly falling to their knees, weeping at the sight of such a magnificent and terrifying being.

But this was not always the case. He battled across the continent, fighting against those that did not choose the way of mankind, as decreed by his father. The rebels, however, were not fully beaten; and as the Third Company made its way through what was named the Forest of Souls, they were attacked by walking trees.

At first, Captain Corela of the Third Company could not believe his eyes; then he realized that witchcraft was behind this, especially when three of the walking oaks plucked six of his men from the ground and killed them without a thought. He ordered his men into action and, after several more losses, he ordered the heavy weapons squad up. They finally managed to cut the walking monstrosities down. He turned to his sergeant and pointed as more of the living trees moved towards the Third Company.

"Get the flamers on the – things," he snarled.

Without a word, Sergeant Deran did as his Captain ordered, and each of his heavy weapon squads turned their Promethean fire on the trees.

Such was the sound that ushered from the oaks at that, the Astartes could only stare in horror, although their ears were partially protected from the awful high-pitched keening of the dying behemoths before them.

Deran unsheathed his talons. "For Corax!" he roared.

His brothers shouted the name of their beloved father and tore through the forest. The Raven Guard did what they did best, and what they did made them one of the fastest Legions.

* * *

><p>Corax stood before the shattered palace. Lightning strikes and nighttime raids had distracted the enemy from his and his sons' main goal. He had entered with his First Company, and now he stood before what remained of the palace. It saddened him that the people of this world would rather destroy its beauty than become part of the Imperium of Man; but though the Emperor's rule was supreme, he fully understood the power of scorched-earth tactics and of spite.<p>

He flexed his hands a little, and the talons that were his secondary weapon seemed to shiver in anticipation of what was to come. Captain Arendi and Commander Agapito Nev joined his side as he watched the former leaders of the world. They were on their knees before him, appearing to be like frightened lambs ready for the slaughter. But Corax knew well enough that, while these men were indeed terrified, they were trying to exaggerate their desperation.

"All companies report the resistance is coming to an end, my lord." Arendi bowed his head as he addressed his father.

Corax nodded his assent as Agapito cleared his throat. "My lord, news from the Shadow of the Emperor. The Warmaster is requesting our presence, and that of a number of other Primarchs; he says it is a matter of urgency."

Corax said nothing and strode towards the prisoners. He was not like Curze or Angron; he would let them know what their fate was, so that they could meet it with pure honour. His sons watched and listened as he told the defenders' leaders that, whilst they had fought with honour, they would never find peace in the way of the Emperor. Their people would join the Imperium, and it would be a glorious future. But their own rebellious nature would ensure that this world would never find peace so long as they ruled it; and, as they closed their eyes in understanding that their pleas for mercy had failed, he decapitated them with a sweep of his lightning claws.

"Have Commander Ulas of the Santonians and his men oversee the transition; I want Captains Kralos and Natuala of the Tenth and Twelfth to remain here for the moment as well. Now, let's go and see what my holier-than-thou brother wants."

Arendi and Agapito cast glances at each other; the relationship between Horus and Corax was not known for its warmth. They did not see eye to eye, especially after the war with the Unsighted Kings had decimated the Terran companies of the Legion, and whatever this was about, it was unlikely that it would end well.

* * *

><p>Odyean was in ruins. The Word Bearers stood sentinel as the world's armed forces and government were led, in chains, to the town centre, where Lorgar stood in his magnificence. Kor Phaeron and Erebus stood to either side of him, and Argel Tal just behind him. The Urizen watched as the prisoners were kept in neat rows and listened to the bark of the slave masters. Since the Emperor's ascension, those who failed the aspirant stage of becoming a Space Marine but were still of use to the Legion were given this new role.<p>

Kor Phaeron glared down at the humans and, although they could not see his handsome face, they could feel his eyes boring into them; and they cowered under his baleful stare. Erebus, on the other hand, smiled a little, as if he were some friendly local vicar that was about to take morning tea with them. It was both frightening and soothing, to have faces both of light and dark looking down at them.

However when Lorgar stepped into the dawn light not one of them could hold the gaze of so perfect a being. His gold-painted skin shone with the light of faith, and his kohl-rimmed eyes seemed to make him look like some ancient king, perhaps a Neo-Pharo of Ancient Terra, perhaps a Olivudian-era Prime Director. They did not need prodding from either the slave masters or the guns of the Astartes; they fell to their knees willingly and bowed their heads, weeping at such a beautiful sight.

Lorgar turned from them to the shell of the Cathedral that was already being constructed by his own artisans. He was responsible for the universe seeing his father in his proper light, but there were some things that needed to be done immediately.

"You are the former rulers, senators, and lords and ladies of this world; and I must admit that Odyean is a beautiful planet. You and your armed forces, however, rebelled against the master of mankind, and that will not do."

Lorgar's voice carried across the town centre as easily as a breeze. Erebus was impressed; as a warrior, his father was (even he had to admit) not as mighty as some of his brothers, but his wisdom eclipsed (in Erebus's view) even Magnus. Kor Phaeron, though also touched by Lorgar's words, had his own plans; and whilst his surrogate son rode in the glory of the Emperor's true awakening, he, too, would make sure that he rode with him, always as the ever-reasonable ear to Lorgar's doubts, whenever they would arise.

The conceited smirk vanished as he remembered that, since the Emperor had returned from the Warp, Lorgar had not had any doubts, none whatsoever. Phaeron was so lost in his own thoughts of how he might start to utilise this new position that his son found himself in that he barely noticed Lorgar's walk before the prostrated prisoners.

To move now would have shown disfavour, yet as he saw Erebus walk alongside him, he knew that on some level Lorgar had ignored him. The question on his mind now was why, and his fists clenched in his mighty gauntlets as he realised just how much the world had changed.

Lorgar stood before the prostrate and weeping prisoners. He seemed to be scanning the three thousand that knelt before him. True, he had to show that he was still a son of the Emperor, and whilst he was not a born warrior like his brothers, who seemed to take to killing and slaying like predators, he was still a warrior and could still kill when it was necessary. But in order to gain this world's admiration, he had to be merciful too. He looked down at the people again, and then turned his gaze to another figure to his left.

"Captain Sangos, attend me for a moment."

The Master of the Sixth Host moved swiftly to his lord's side and moved to one knee. "Yes, Lord?"

"We do not have to kill all of them, now do we?"

It was not a question; Bal Sangos knew that the Primarch had already made his mind up, that Lorgar was merely wondering if his captain was on the same wavelength.

"Some will have to die, lord." He stood at the Primarch's behest. "However, if you leave some alive, then it would show you are both a man to be feared and a man to be loved."

Lorgar seemed pleased with that answer and bid his Sixth Captain walk alongside himself and Erebus.

Erebus arched an eyebrow behind his skull-faced helm, well-aware of the favour that the Urizen was showing to Sangos and the disfavour he was showing Phaeron. There was something going on here, and Erebus no more liked being kept in the dark then anyone else within the Legion's favoured inner circle.

"Those of you who have sons who are beginning their adolescence, rise." Lorgar clasped his hands behind his back and watched as five hundred men and women stood.

"Your sons will be taken from you and turned into Astartes of the Word; and for that I will honour you with a quick death."

He turned to the First Company Terminators and motioned to the standing prisoners. With clean, precise shots they were executed. Those still kneeling flinched as blood and brain matter fell onto their ripped and torn clothes. Some of those still kneeling soiled themselves, and even from those that did not, the smell of fear entered the air. And though Lorgar was no Curze, right now that smell was just what he wanted to feel.

He walked along the front row, every so often resting his hand on the head of a young woman and then bidding them to stand.

"You have daughters?" he asked. "Who are of a young age?" They nodded, wondering what fate lay in store for their children.

He turned to Erebus. "Release these women to return to their daughters; once the cathedral is built, they will return to the temple with their daughters to work within as handmaidens to the gods. The daughters will be taught to be warriors of the Emperor in their own right."

"By your command, my lord." Erebus bowed low and released the fifty women, then ushered them away. Lorgar knew that Erebus would remember their faces and would know if they did not return.

He moved along the third and fourth rows, picking out two hundred of the braver men and women from the local armed forces and handing them over to the Colchidan III shock troopers; then he told the General, a man by the name of Hasana Kal, to retrain them in the way of Colchis.

The rest of the prisoners looked hopeful for a moment. Lorgar then picked a thousand seemingly at random, being careful not to pick the leaders of this world, just the average government worker or soldier. He had them taken away to be put aboard the vessels of the Word Bearers to serve in the human crews. He was left with the remainder, and tapped his lower jaw. Five hundred and fifty people were taken away to begin building the Church to the Emperor. Those that were left, almost exclusively high-ranked officials in the government or army, started to look worried.

Bal Sangos smiled beneath his helm; his master had shown them that he could offer the dead parents honour by allowing their sons to serve in the mighty Legion of the Word. He had shown mercy to young mothers by offering them life in the new regime, and their daughters' honour would somehow be supported as well, though he was not yet sure how. He had allowed the warriors of this world to regain their honour by serving him as part of the ever-growing Imperial Army, and now he had shown five hundred and fifty people the path through purgatory, putting them to work as punishment but potentially allowing them to live.

Lorgar told the First Company Astartes to get the remaining humans to their feet. They were the rulers of the world, the advisors, and the generals, plus a few that seemed particularly incapable of accepting the Imperial Truth. He walked along them like a lion, ready and waiting to attack its prey; and none of them could look upon so perfect a being without losing at least part of their mind. For that, unlike their revolt, Sangos did not blame them. It was hard enough for humans to look upon Astartes, and hard enough for Astartes to look upon the Primarchs without feeling an endless sense of love and honour. Right now, his father was doing what he did best: making this world's former rulers fear him and love him to the same extent.

"You have all shown yourselves to be incapable of change, incapable of accepting the Emperor as the rightful ruler of Mankind. Now, I know that this world has been separated from Holy Terra for many a millennium; and yet most worlds have embraced illumination, or at least been loyal after achieving compliance. But not you. I have to ask myself: if I leave you alive to return to your old positions, or to any other positions, would you stay loyal, or would you look for the first chance you get to rebel against he who is a god? Not just any god, one must remember, but a god amongst gods."

Lorgar fell silent for a moment and, with a slight alteration to his voice, he conveyed sorrow at what he was about to do. Bal Sangos had never heard any other Primarch express sorrow, unless it was for an ally, such as the death of an Astartes or a favoured human serf. But Lorgar really did love these people, like he loved all of them.

"The answer, regrettably, is the latter. I do not believe you will align yourself with him on Terra or any of his new directions. And therefore, though with a heavy heart, I will have you executed. You will, however, serve him in death even if you could not in life."

He turned to Bal Sangos and motioned him over.

"My lord?"

"Take them to the holding chamber; then, when Erebus is ready for them, have them sacrificed to the gods and my father. Tell Erebus that their blood is to be the join that builds my father's temple."

"As you command, my Lord."

Lorgar nodded and waved his massive crozius as a signal to take them away. Only when the humans were gone did Kor Phaeron join his side.

"It would seem you and I have much to discuss, my son," he rumbled.

"Yes, Kor Phaeron, we do. I will meet you my strategium in three hours; I need to speak with the architects first."

Kor Phaeron was about to say something when he was struck half-dumb. For the first time since he had known Lorgar, Aurelian refused to call him father.


	7. Chapter Six

The Praetorian strode the palace walls; all who saw him lowered their gaze and continued with their work, for it would not do to stare too long at the father of the Imperial Fists and the Black Templars.

There were subtle differences in his armour, compared to what it had been. It was still beautifully wrought gold-colored plate, but the symbol on his clasp was the most telltale sign that everything was changing. The clasp on his cloak was an eight-pointed star, representing Chaos Undivided. He gave his fealty to his father first, and any other gods second at best. He paused, watching the Black Templars go through their drills with Sigismund leading them.

Dorn allowed himself a tight smile; there was no better master for them then him. He had chosen wisely. When his brothers had all been illuminated, the Black Templars would continue the Great Crusade, but in a special fashion - those worlds that would not come under the Emperor's aegis and accept him once more, now as their god, would need to be punished. It was that which would be the Black Templars' role: an inquisitorial Astartes force. Dorn was proud that he had been the one entrusted with their creation. If his father needed a special force to root out heresy, Dorn was proud it was his gene-seed that had been used for it.

He continued his walk and clasped his hands behind his back. Vulkan had returned to Nocturne, to ensure that his sons and people accepted the new regime. Once upon a time, the word that his own brother had killed those of his sons that would not follow him would have disgusted and befuddled him; but on Maragara, it had been the most logical course of action.

"Brother."

He turned at the deep voice to see Curze behind him. There was still a tension in the air between the two of them, but it had eased a little; Dorn doubted it would ever lift entirely, but enough of their mutual dislike was gone to allow them to converse with each other.

"Brother." Dorn inclined his head. "What troubles you?"

Curze seemed a little hesitant at first, but eventually he joined Dorn's side; and those that looked, for this brief time, upon the two sons of the Emperor did so thinking they would never see such a sight again, for it was documented that the Praetorian and Night Haunter were not the best of friends.

"I will not bow down to demons," Curze emphatically said. "I do what I do because it is Father's will and, above that, because the cosmos needs order. I do not accept the likes of demons, or their servants, or masters."

Rogal Dorn nodded and shrugged a little. "I agree with you, Konrad."

Curze arched an eyebrow; he never thought Dorn would agree with him on anything, let alone call him Konrad.

"You do? I took this to Lorgar before he left, and he told me my path would become clear to me. But I do not see a path for me, except for the one that leads to death." Curze's voice trailed a little. "Always to my death."

Dorn had no idea how that felt. As a nigh-immortal warrior and son of an immortal being, he had never thought much about what would happen if he died. He took the death of each fallen Fist personally like all his brothers, but to know the appointed hour of his own death was something that was totally alien to him.

Curze leant on the parapet, his mighty talons opening and closing as he struggled to contain the injustice he felt.

"As a youth, I often wondered - on days that I was not planning the slaying of more among Nostramo's murderous scum - what my father and mother must have been like." Curze gave a sardonic smile. "But of course we have no mother; we were grown in a vat, like the test-tube babies of the Kalian, each of us infused with some of our father's genes to make us more then normal men.

"One day, I told myself, one day my parents would come for me; but when our father came for me, I was already plagued by visions that I had no answer to about beings that I did not know.

"Now after decades of trying to convince my father that the cosmos needs us to keep order and justice, he agrees; but he is certainly changed. Not so long ago, he was wanting my Legion's collective head."

Dorn nodded, as that was true; the Night Lords' excesses had sickened even their father, but the attack on Dorn himself had been the last straw.

"That was in the past, Konrad." Dorn rested a tentative hand on his shoulder, and to his surprise Curze did not shrug it off; he flinched a little, not used to such close contact with another being, but he did not shrug it off.

"Yes," Curze said, "that was in the past. And many of my visions have become muddled, Rogal. I no longer clearly see your fate, you know. You died under an onslaught of thousands of daggers held by screaming Astartes; but not anymore. Only three fates are clear, unchanging, always unchanging. Three deaths. My world, my Legion... and then, and only then, myself." Dorn suspected the Night Haunter had never spoken to anyone so candidly before, at least not about his nightmares. He did his best not to think of his own, averted fate.

"Perhaps your other dreams will change for the better too, then."

"And if they do not?" Curze asked. "If they remain the same, what do I do?"

"Change them yourself. Destiny is not set in stone, brother; destiny is what we make it, and what we alone make it. Do not follow the gods if that is not what you wish for your sons; just trust in Father's vision, and you will have justice."

"Now you are sounding like Aurelian," Curze chuckled. It sounded like a grating board.

"Sometimes he makes sense." Dorn gave a half smile. "So where are you off to next?"

* * *

><p>Kor Phaeron entered the strategium of his lord and marvelled at the change that had come over it. Banners each depicting the great powers of the Warp hung openly from the ceiling in rows that denoted their presence in the warp.<p>

The chamber was bathed in a holy glow, candles all around him, and each alcove in his chapel-like command centre had a depiction of those same powers: a serpent for Tzeench, an armoured figure on a throne of skulls for Khorne, a great bloated plague-ridden monster for Nurgle, and a half-male, half-female figure for Slaanesh. Each was given a honourable place, and each was surrounded by candles, so that they had a place of their own to be communed with. But all of that was nothing compared to what hung over his lord's seat.

The strategium's pride was the double-headed eagle that signified the Emperor and was carved from solid gold. Unlike the other Word Bearers, who could count the master of mankind as a surrogate grandfather, Kor Phaeron (and indeed others like him, humans who were merely partially uplifted as they were too old to become fully fledged Astartes, of whom more were associated with some of the other Legions) could claim no such link; and a tinge of paternal jealousy worked its way through the enhanced human.

As he looked upon his surrogate son now, he wondered if he could even call Lorgar that anymore. He moved to one knee slowly and bowed his head. Surrogate father or not, he had always had to observe protocol; and now it was becoming more than that. Lorgar had his back to the First Captain, his gaze transfixed on the stars outside the viewing portal.

All this _was_ his father's rightful kingdom, and as a god he deserved all possible accolades. Kor Phaeron's surrogate son had already exceeded him, and would soon come into his birthright; that much was becoming clear. Phaeron would assist him every step of the way, and with sufficient information, benefit from the situation himself. Even with Lorgar's impending ascension - indeed, because of it - he would need Phaeron, one last time, and Phaeron was endlessly loyal to his god. And then, perhaps, he would be rewarded for that, but that was secondary.

There were those of Lorgar's brothers that thought him nothing but a fancy speaker. But, like the Ultramarines, the Word Bearers too had their successes, indeed larger in quality (if not quality) than the Ultramarines, for their conquered planets were more loyal, not one having rebelled against the Imperium. It was a record that Lorgar was proud of, and he could count on all his sons - every single one of them - to remain steadfast in their loyalties. He did not doubt that there were those who expressed disquiet about it, but the earlier purges had done their job, and when news had filtered through of the fate of the World Eaters and Salamanders who had not wished to remain loyal to the Emperor, any leanings toward betrayal had vanished.

Lorgar closed his kohl-rimmed eyes and seemed to bask in the glow of the universe; how long had he wanted precisely this? His Lectio Divinatius was already coming true and, here with the Crusade to re-join all the worlds of man nearly over, a holier Crusade was starting, to unite them under a faith so strong that no xenos would be able to defeat its power in a trillion years.

He drew in a long sigh and turned his head slightly to see Kor Phaeron kneeling before him. He walked around the desk and rested a hand on his First Captain's shoulder, bidding him to rise. Yes, Kor Phaeron's father-son was on the verge of victory; but he was also on the verge of total failure. And that was why Phaeron remained necessary.

"It distresses me that you are not altogether happy with this turn of events, Kor Phaeron." Lorgar poured himself some wine, and then poured a glass for his surrogate father.

"I just do not want the achievement to be taken away from you, my son," Kor Phaeron replied evenly. "If I may speak candidly…."

"Always." Lorgar's smile stayed on his lips as he handed Kor Phaeron the goblet; but his eyes were not smiling, and the First Captain did not fail to notice that.

"Once upon a time the Emperor…."

"Beloved by all," Lorgar intoned.

"Beloved by all," Kor Phaeron repeated with reluctance, "punished us for our beliefs, and had the Ultramarines wipe an entire world from history. Can you be certain that he will not take away the work that you have put into this and claim it as his own?" That was the crux of it. Lorgar had always been too trusting. Even, Kor Phaeron admitted, towards his own self.

"You think he would?" Lorgar sipped some wine and looked into the red liquid.

As Kor Phaeron glanced into the goblet, he could not be certain that it was wine he was about to drink. It was too thick to be wine, by far. Lorgar needed to be reminded of this, in any case. "I would not put anything past a man that sacrifices two of his sons to the Wolves and -"

"Enough!" Lorgar roared suddenly, with enough fury that even Kor Phaeron flinched visibly. "That is my father you are condemning, Kor Phaeron, my father and your master! Choose your words more carefully."

Kor Phaeron, however, was not to be cowed. He had not aided in an entire planetwide civil war to bring Colchis from under the yoke of the Covenant for Lorgar to defy him, not for the cause of the Gods, but over a man he personally believed was not fit to wipe his son's shoes, or to speak a word to the gods of the Warp. "Lorgar, you have been like a son to me. I have taught you the very principles of Warp ethics which you so righteously and firmly believe, and because of that there is no better avatar for the gods of the Warp then you." And, Phaeron considered, eventually no better fifth of the pantheon. "I do not want to see the Emperor take away everything that you have strived so tirelessly over the last few decades." Kor Phaeron moved towards the Primarch, who watched him move - and this almost broke Phaeron's heart - like a lion watching a rival come to take his pride from him. Lorgar was his father and his son, a god and a pawn, but Phaeron had never challenged him. They had always been on different levels.

Lorgar, for his part, wondered which of them Phaeron considered the superior. "Now, why do you suppose he would do that, Kor?" Lorgar asked lightly. "Or is it that you feel my relationship with you is slipping away? That perhaps you feel as if you are loosing your surrogate son… and your ride to power?" He raised his hand to forestall any of the many objections that he knew would come from the old man's mouth. "I made you what you are. Of my brothers, only the Lion, Magnus, and myself have our adoptive fathers still serving with us; but the difference between them and myself is that, whereas Luther is still an enhanced human, he trains new recruits and is in effect the Castellan of Caliban, and Magnus's Amon is also the captain of a Scout Company. But you are a First Captain.

"You are that which is normally deigned for a full Astarte: the First Captain, the confidant of the Primarch, you are my Gabriel Santar, my Julius Kaesoron, my – dare I say it – Ezekyle Abaddon.

"I have made you into something that not even Luther could attain; and this is how you repay me? By questioning my father's words? By trying to get me to believe that he is gong to betray me in some underhanded way - by setting the Rout on me, perhaps?"

"I doubt it would be Russ," Kor Phaeron snarled, "for the Wolves would remember. More like Angron."

"Silence!" Lorgar roared, and for the first time ever, the First Captain seemed to realise he had underestimated his son, fully underestimated him. Not in the realm of the physical, or the realm of the mind, for in both of those Lorgar had no doubt he'd amazed his mentor before; but now, Phaeron seemed taken aback by Lorgar's spirit. "You dare to criticize my father when you have been riding on the coat wings of my destiny to gleam some glory for yourself, some power for yourself, so that you can rise to other, more prominent positions on the chess board."

"I seek to look out for you and your glory, not mine."

"You are not a very good liar, Kor." Actually, Phaeron was - Lorgar still did not know how many of his surrogate father's statements were true, and _how_ true. But Phaeron was at least not being fully honest, and certainly thought more about his own well-being than Aurelian's own. Lorgar set his goblet down and went back to the viewport, to watch the stars.

The bond between them was simmering with total anger on both sides. Kor Phaeron was beginning to realise that there might not be a place in the new order for him, and Lorgar was finally deciding, entirely, that his foster father had never trusted and would never trust his judgment. He scowled as he began to piece together the thoughts that had always eluded him, like tendrils of a larger revelation that had escaped his attention until now.

It was no secret that he was not seen in the same warlike light as his more aggressive brothers. His wisdom was rarely questioned, but his lack of fighting prowess had always been a joke to his more violent brothers such as Angron, Curze, or Russ. In fact there was more then one occasion that Leman had called for his head, or those of his sons, when their staunch beliefs had gotten in his face.

But - had he not calmed the Wolf King's and the Crimson King's cholers, prevented them from ripping each other's throats out? He nodded to himself: yes, he had, but there was something that was not quite -

He turned from the window and looked at his surrogate father. "You have never believed in me, have you?"

"What?" Kor Phaeron was wrongfooted. He had, Lorgar saw, not expected Lorgar to come out with that statement. In particular, Lorgar concluded, he had not expected Aurelian to realise the truth behind their relationship. "I have always believed in you, Lord Urizen."

"No, you haven't; you do not believe in my skills as a warrior, or as a diplomat, only that I follow your mind as you follow my spirit. This is not Colchis anymore, Phaeron. I am the son of the Emperor, not some naïve foundling that you took under your wing and – manipulated to get what you wanted."

"Lord, I –"

"You have heard my confessions and my pains," Lorgar cut him off roughly, "and not once did you believe I would make it this far. Always one with a contingency plan, aren't you?"

He picked his Crozius up and stroked the haft. Kor Phaeron would see the dry blood that still sat upon the crozius. Lorgar had killed the first sacrifice to his father; the rest had been Erebus and the other Word Bearers, but Lorgar took the first.

The Primarch narrowed his eyes and psychic energy (latent power that had been within Lorgar all along, but limited by his fear of it, Aurelian having seen what it had done to Curze and Magnus) danced around his eyes like sparks of lightening,

"My star is on the ascendance and I am Father's voice, not you." He raised his Crozius. "I was warned what would happen if I elevated an enhanced human to the position of First Captain over an Astarte; I told them they were wrong, but it was me that was wrong and now, well, now I am going to rectify that."

Kor Phaeron blinked momentarily, but had no last words before the Crozius came crashing onto his skull.

"The non-believer shall be swept away in the storm of righteousness for his sins," Lorgar chanted as he caved his surrogate fathers skull in with the crozius that Ferrus had made him. "There can be only one path to tread, and the warrior and holy man must tread as one; the weak will fall to be forgotten."

He stepped back, breathing harshly, as Kor Phaeron's own breath came into its death throes and his eyes began to glaze.

"Khorne," Phaeron said before the end. "Tzeentch. Nurgle. Slaanesh. Lorgar, go -" and then he could speak no more. The last thing he ever saw was Lorgar standing over him, and the crozius falling towards him.

"I have had enough of you," Lorgar seethed, and Kor Phaeron died under the onslaught. Lorgar closed his eyes. "I have proved my loyalty to you, father; you warned me this day would come, and I have cleansed the rot in my Legion."

He sat on his command throne as the doors opened and Captains Sangos and Tal, along with Erebus, stared at the mess that had been Kor Phaeron.

"You have something to say on the matter?" he asked. His voice so different from what they had been used to, full of not only faith, but certainty.

"No, lord," they replied as one.

"Bal Sangos, you have shown a particular understanding of the changes; and Erebus said that you ordered all your chaplains to listen to him, on pain of death."

"I did, lord." Sangos kept his gaze to the floor.

"Then rise, my son; go name your successor, for you are now my First Captain." Lorgar kept a neutral face at the three men's expressions "Unless there is a reason you cannot accept your post?"

"You honour me, lord. But surely there are those more worthy then I, like Argel Tal here?"

"Tal has his own destiny, much like Erebus; and if there were others, they would be here now and not you." Lorgar got up and rested a bloody hand on Sangos's shoulder. "Tal recommended you when I spoke to him earlier; now do as I ask. Then, you can swear your oaths and we can get underway."

Lorgar did not fail to notice the borderline murderous look that Erebus shot his former pupil, and turned his face so they could not see his amusement. This was how it was going to be. They would listen to him, and him alone, not Erebus or Kor Phaeron. Well, certainly not the latter.

That was the problem with Phaeron; he still thought of himself as Lorgar's father, at least partially, and thus could never be his subordinate. That ended now. He was the Primarch, no one else; and by the gods and the divine blood of his father, they were going to do as he said, or he would kill them all in the name of what was right.


	8. Chapter Seven

_The Pride of Caliban _roamed the sea of space without, it seemed, a care in the universe. It was heading for a rendezvous with the Emperor's Children vessel _Heart of Chemos, _and from there they would take the Emperor's law further into the cosmos, all the while avoiding any disclosure of the new mission parameters.

Captain Angelus watched the smooth running of his vessel with the eye of a practised veteran. His hooded face hid his emotions from the human crew of the vessel; there was no need for them to see what their master thought. He heard the doors behind him open and, without turning, knew that the Reclusiarch had come to the bridge.

"Brother-Captain," the deep Calibanite echo of Reclusiarch Bedano's voice greeted him.

Angelus nodded but did not reply; he was too busy concentrating on the screen ahead. They would translate out of the Warp soon, and he was to be prepared for anything. It was no secret that the Emperor was not happy with the First Legion's beloved father at the moment. The Emperor had wanted Perturabo alongside him in his plans. To have both siege masters by his side would have made him nigh-unstoppable; but it was not to be, and any missive sent to the Lord of Olympia was seemingly being ignored.

They had been warned to be wary of any Iron Warrior vessels that they come across. The bad blood between the brothers was not yet healed, for reasons beyond Angelus's knowledge. Still, the captain of the 83rd Order had his orders, and disobeying the Lions orders was not a wise thing to do. He had seen what had happened to those that did, and as much as he loved his homeworld, he had no wish to return there, to rot in the tower for however long it pleased the Lion to leave him there. And that was one of the better possible outcomes.

**++ Whom are we meeting, Jaffara? ++** The Reclusiarch switched to a private channel between himself and the Captain so that the mortal crew could not hear their words.

**++ We are to rendezvous with the Heart of Chemos. From there we are to retake the world of Ostriga; according to our father, it is a world of strategic importance to the Emperor, for the Mechanicum have a Titan Forge there. ++**

The Reclusiarch was silent for a moment, then said, **++ Is that not Medasa's vessel? ++**

**++ Your memory serves you well, old friend. Yes, it is Medasa's vessel, and he is warring alongside us once more. The Dark Angels alongside the Emperor's Children, the First alongside their only cousins allowed to bear the Aquila, what new stories will emerge for the bards to sing about over their wines? ++**

Bedano chuckled, but it was without mirth and Angelus knew this. The Reclusiarch was not a fan of those who sought to perfect themselves more then the Emperor, for there could be no being more perfect than the master of mankind. To think anything else was - well, now it was blasphemy of the highest order. Like Angelus, Bedano was not certain that he wanted to view the Emperor as a god, but the Reclusiarch saw him as at least a functional equivalent. Angelus, for his part, would prefer to let such things be for the mortals that toiled under his watchful gaze; that was not the way of the Astartes.

He was, however, careful to mask his thoughts. The same was true of Bedano at the moment, for it would not do any good to voice such doubts; the Emperor's ascension was a closely guarded secret until he had all of his sons and grandsons on his side. Somehow, Angelus did not believe this was going to happen.

Bedano altered his stance a little, and the crew saw why there was no need for a morale officer on the bridge; the imposing, purely black-clad, skull-faced keeper of the soul was enough to have any mortal, or indeed Astarte, quake a little in their boots. It was his duty to ensure that the Astartes' spirits did not wax or wane. He took their doubts and turned them into such fiery passion that the sons of the Lion had to question why they had doubts in the first place.

**++ Are the men ready? ++ **Angelus finally asked.

**++ They were ready before you set foot here this morning, Brother-Captain ++ **Bedano inclined his head, the only indication to the bridge crew that anything was being said between the demigods in their midst.  
><strong><br>++ Then let us hope that the preparations will not be as they were the last time we fought alongside the Emperor's Children. ++**

**++ They will not be. ++**

Angelus turned a little as the Reclusiarch made his way off the bridge; under his hood, he scowled a little at his old friend's certainty. He put such things to the back of his mind as his vessel prepared to come back into realspace; but the nagging feeling that something bad was going to happen stayed with him and did not leave.

* * *

><p>Horus stood watching his viewing window, his hands clasped firmly behind his back; and, although his face was turned away from them, the full Mournival and his Equerry could all see that the events that had reached his ears were taking their toll on the first amongst Primarchs.<p>

The Emperor's treachery - he had only fully announced it to the Mournival, and that had been bad enough. Abaddon had howled in rage and denial. Torgaddon had been silent for a Terran day. Loken... he had tried reasoning with Lupercal for an hour, trying to convince his Primarch that this did not quite warrant betrayal. In the end, however, he had been forced to admit Horus was right. Only Aximand had accepted the truth immediately, and his sadness still seemed to blot out everything around him. "The dream is dead," he would say to his Mournival brothers.

Together, the Mournival and Equerry Maloghurst (who had taken the news evenly, but only because he had already deduced it - when he had, he had meditated for hours, trying to understand the incomprehensible) agreed with the Warmaster's plan to summon every Legion Magnus had said the Emperor had not yet summoned to his own side to him, for a council to initiate rebellion. Even Russ, Alpharius, and Corax, who Horus doubted would even come, were sent for; any hope was better than none. And, though Horus would never admit to such, it was preferable to have the other Primarchs here, so that, if necessary and possible, he and his closer brothers could kill them. It was fratricide - terrible, unthinkable, among the Primarchs. But these were unthinkable times.

Horus had received a distress call from the Isstvan system, where Governor Vardus Praal was supposedly plotting rebellion against the Imperium. Upon Horus Lupercal's arrival in Isstvan III's orbit, any murmurings of rebellion very rapidly ceased. That was a relief, for the Warmaster had no idea what he would be supposed to do if the rumors had been true (and Praal had gone through with his plans). Horus had no love for Praal but, on the other hand, he would have been a fellow opponent of the Imperium - the very concept caused him a headache. So the Sixty-Third Expedition was stationed, inert, in the Isstvan system, along with the _Photep_, causing endless confusion among the remembrancers; and it was to here that the Warmaster summoned no less than eight of his brothers. If, by some miracle, all of them came, it would be a new Ullanor, but a dark reflection of the first, a council of rebellion and not triumph.

He had no idea who would arrive; and even though Magnus stood with them, Horus felt alone, more so than he had ever felt thus in his entire life, for he was without his father's support. He was still reeling from the news of Dorn's destruction of an innocent world of the Imperium; he did not want to believe that one of his closest brothers could do such a thing, and yet Loken and Abaddon had brought the proof back with them.

He kept his gaze fixed on what he believed was the translation point for his brothers, and waited for arrivals. And the Mournival stood around him, deep in their own thoughts of what rebellion would mean.

It took another hour before the first vessel arrived. _The Great Khan_ slowed its speed as it came through from the Warp into real space. She was a beauty of a vessel: Loken could not believe how sleek she was. She was not as big as the other flagships he had seen, but then, this would fit in with the White Scars and their speed-focused nature. Lupercal inwardly smiled; he had been nearly sure Jaghatai would come, as certain about him as about Perturabo and Sanguinius. Though, with the last of those three - Sanguinius would listen to him, but the Angel would never fall. Horus had to make him see, but it would not be easy.

He turned as the face of the Great Khan himself appeared on the screen and, bowing his head, he touched his forehead and then his chin.

"Greetings, brother Horus." The Khan folded his arms across his powerful chest. "It has been too long."

"It is good to see you, Jaghatai; please come across at your leisure." Horus turned to Torgaddon. "Meet my brother and take him to my strategium."

"Yes, my lord." Tarik bowed and left quickly.

The Mournival were to meet with the arriving Primarchs, with six of their own companies' brothers as an honour guard. The only issue was which of them would escort the Wolf King if he chose to show. Magnus was sitting in the strategium, awaiting his brothers' arrival, and it was a known fact that the two did not see eye to eye. (Neither did Magnus and Mortarion, but Mortarion was close to Horus in a way Russ was not.)

The Wolf King did not like the Crimson King's level of sorcery or how he used it. But then, as Magnus would say, they were all products of their father, and his own powers were no accident. Not even Russ should have disagreed with that, but the tension was there; so it had been decided that Horus himself would calm the Wolf King down if Russ came, and put his brothers in their place.

This was his vessel, and he was not going to have two of his brothers fighting in it. If there was any fighting to be done, it would be later, when the question of rebellion had been aired.

Now was neither the time nor the place for it, if all of this was true and not some inconceivable misunderstanding; more than ever, they needed to be strong. The Mournival had been more then a little relieved when Horus had made this pronouncement, more so when Horus had asked the Justaerin to remain as his honour guard for the Wolf King's highly theoretical arrival

Next came the_ Beta_, the flagship of the Alpha Legion. A helmed warrior appeared in the viewing screen and bowed his head. "We are Alpharius," he intoned, "and we are here to serve the Imperium."

Horus arched an eyebrow. "Please, brother, make your way to the_ Vengeful Spirit." _He should have known Alpharius would've come - if only to gather information. But the Last Primarch was probably not here because he was considering actually supporting Horus.

Alpharius nodded and vanished from view. Little Horus shook his head a little and wondered why he had drawn the Alpha Legion. After all, they were the most secretive of all the Legions, and at the end of the day, he liked to know who and what he was dealing with. He disliked subterfuge and pretense, and the Alpha Legion were notorious for it. He had his orders, but that did not mean he liked them.

Horus watched Aximand leave the command room and saw Abaddon snigger a little. "Poor Little Horus." He grinned at Abaddon and Loken. "He never did like spies."

"Like them or not, my lord," Abaddon rumbled, "it is what they do best."

"Let us hope Aximand agrees, Ezekyle," Horus agreed.

* * *

><p>Torgaddon walked along the line of his honour guard; six of his company's best, and they were all spit and shine. He was proud of Second Company: they had stood by him, and were close even when he had been elevated to the lofty heights of the Mournival. Their reputation, too, was intact.<p>

He glanced at his sergeant and waited for him to join his side. "Marka," he whispered, "I do not mind telling you I am metaphorically shitting myself."

"How will our father know who is in this madness that he has heard about, and who is not?" Marka, a young Cthonian, who had joined the Legion long after Tarik, did not beat about the bush and got straight to the point of the matter.

Tarik arched an eyebrow. "Who said there was any madness?"

"I can't say," Marka mysteriously said, immediately putting Torgaddon on guard, "but there are rumours, Captain, rumours of unrest and what Captains Loken, Abaddon and Ahriman found on that world."

"If you know what is good for you, my friend, you will quash those rumours and not let the Warmaster hear you speak of them." Torgaddon was not joking, and Marka bowed his head quickly. "Now be ready, the Khan is due aboard."

Sure enough, not a moment after he had uttered the words, a Stormbird came gracefully through the hangar doors. Tarik barked at his men to come to attention; and as soon as the door to the Stormbird opened and the ramp lowered, he and his honour guard moved to one knee.

Tarik did not know how long he knelt for, but when he was commanded to rise, he did so with his heart in his mouth. He had never met the Khan in person, although he had heard much about the enigmatic son of the sky and steppe.

His dark hair sat in a topknot that seemed to crest his head like the curve of a planet. His armour was the colour of gypsum sand, and his eyes seemed to say more than either Torgaddon or Jaghatai knew. The Sand Warrior, The Great Khan himself, was an expert at speed tactics; there were none who could ride a bike like the Khan, and there were none who could attack at speed like him and his sons. Even Corax was hard-pressed to beat the Khan when it came to lightning raids, and none could match him in bike attacks.

"My father greets you through me, my lord, and asks that I take you to the strategium, where Primarch Magnus is waiting."

Jaghatai nodded, inwardly happy that his second close brother was here as well, and walked alongside the Luna Wolf. The honour guard fell in alongside the Primarch's bodyguard, the Keshig, and walked behind the Primarch and the Mournival captain.

"He apologises for not greeting you personally, my lord…."

Jughati raised his hand to ward off any other comments. "Horus has much to prepare." He cast a sideways glance at the Second Captain. "I am not going to twist my moustache about it; besides, to be greeted by a Captain of the Mournival is comparable to being met by Horus himself."

Tarik's chest swelled with pride. "You do me honour, my lord."

"If Magnus is here, who is going to meet the Wolf King?"

"If Leman Russ comes, Primarch Horus says it will be his own task, lord."

Jughati nodded. "Wise, very wise indeed. Although I believe that Russ will be respectful - and yes, he will most certainly come. We have just finished a combined war on Elysian."

Tarik nodded but did not answer, for in truth he did not know what to answer. Although he did not believe for a second that Russ and Magnus would not, at least, snipe at each other, it was a great relief in any case that Russ was coming. Perhaps this council would be a success after all.

* * *

><p>'Little' Horus Aximand paced the second hangar like a caged lion. He cursed this lotto draw, and then, when he had finished cursing it some more, he started all over again. His sergeant, Neckara, glanced sideways at him, wondering if his captain had finally gone mad.<p>

Horus looked up and shook his head to ward off his sergeant's concerned expression. "I always get nervous when the Alpha Legion are about," he offered by way of explanation.

But that was not the truth of the matter; well, not entirely. Since word of what Ezekyle, Garvi and Ahzek found on Venus IX had spread throughout the _Vengeful Spirit_, it had been harder to keep a lid on anything. Little Horus was also concerned with vague rumours that Mars was under the joint administration of the Iron Hands. They were still getting their weapons, ammo and armour; but he had never known any Astartes – even the Iron Hands, who had close ties with the cult of Mars already – to interfere in Martian operations.

The Princeps of the Dies Irae was most anxious when he heard stories that his masters on Mars were working, hand in hand, alongside the Iron Hands; even Horus had arched an eyebrow at that one. "Still," Lupercal had said, "Father is too intelligent to alienate the Mechanicum at this critical juncture."

Now Aximand was to greet The Specialist himself, and he was not altogether happy about it. He did not like the way Alpha Legionnaires always said 'we are Alpharius', and he certainly did not like how they answered a question with more questions. And he most definitely disliked the mess the Alpha Legion had caused on Sixty-Three Nineteen.

He straightened as the Stormbird came in and the passengers disembarked. Despite his dislike for the Alpha Legion, he moved to one knee. After all, he was in the presence of a Primarch, and despite the Luna Wolves being seen as uncouth barbarians by some Legions, they still showed respect. Especially to one of his father's brothers. It didn't matter who it was: a Primarch was a Primarch, a genetic descendant of the Emperor, and that made them worthy of respect, even if you didn't like their and their sons' modus operandi.

"Thank you, Little Horus," Alpharius quietly spoke. "Honour is done; now, nephew, if you would like to take me to your father's war room?"

Little Horus got up and then looked up and up, into the secretive features of Alpharius. He looked a little like Horus, and like Lupercal, had no hair. Despite being bald, a line of stubble played around the Specialist's chin. Little Horus was not too sure, but from Alpharius's gaze, he could have sworn that the Specialist was exhausted. If that was the case, then something else had gone on that they did not know about. Primarchs did not generally get exhausted.

Beside Alpharius stood Ingo Pech, his First Captain, and Omegon, a Squad Leader that seemed to have prestige comparable to most captains.

"This way, my lord; my lord Horus apologises for not meeting you personally, but he is still gathering what information he can so that, when he starts this meeting, he can do so with all the facts in his hands."

"As is the way of a mind like Horus." Omegon inclined his head. "Your father does not like to leave any stone unturned."

"No, Omegon, he certainly does not," Little Horus agreed before leading the Alpha Legion away.

* * *

><p>The<em> Pride of Caliban<em> left the warp with a scream of arrival, the tendrils of the Empyrean flickered off its sides, and the Dark Angel vessel creaked as its decks settled back into real space.

She slowed as she saw the vessel that was waiting for her; but something was wrong. The_ Heart of Chemos_ was not answering the_ Pride of Caliban's_ hails, and as she drew closer, she saw that the deck lights on the Third Legion ship were flickering.

Angelus leant on his command throne and cocked his head to one side as he told the vox officer to keep trying to reach the commander of their partner vessel. But, being aware of likely failure, he ordered the Reclusiarch and Squad Medorac to meet him in the hangar bay, along with Squads Pertitious and Larreon.

Shortly thereafter, three Stormbirds made their way across to the_ Heart of Chemos_.

* * *

><p>The black-armoured Astartes of the Dark Angels disembarked from their vessel and looked around them in horror. Bodies lay, cut to pieces, on the decks; and as Sergeant Medorac peered at the walls, he called his Captain over and showed him the blood stains.<p>

"Bolter fire, Captain," he explained. "The Emperor's Children were firing at something."

Angelus made a murmur of agreement under his breath and kicked the body of a dead crewmember with his feet. The body rolled over, revealing the expression on the man's face to be one of - pleasure?

His brothers all reported the same, and the Reclusiarch joined his Captain's side. "This is highly irregular, Captain; it is as if they wanted to die."

Angelus said nothing and ordered his men to follow him out. Their goal was the bridge, and they would see if anything was amiss up there. As of yet, there were no dead Astartes, so it had most likely been a rebellion.

He had been warned that this could happen, that some of the human crew might not accept the new regime; and he hoped that the Emperor's Children had dealt with their turncoat crew. If they had not, the First Legion would pick the pieces up.

"Reclusiarch, take Squad Pertitious, and go to the engineering level and crew decks," Angelus ordered. "See if this has spread down to there; it would explain why she is dead in space, if the crew have rebelled."

"Yes, Brother-Captain."

The Reclusiarch and his squad peeled off, leaving the captain and the remaining two squads to head towards the bridge. Angelus looked around, wondering at why Medasa had been unable to control his crew.

And as he did so, he wondered, additionally, why his bad feeling refused to vanish, as if it had not yet been fulfilled.


	9. Chapter Eight

Horus turned as Torgaddon and Aximand returned. Bowing their heads, they rejoined their brothers, and to Abaddon Aximand looked quite unnerved.

**++ Something bothering you, Little Horus? **++ he asked across the Mournival private channel.

**++ Do you remember me saying once that the Alpha Legion freaked me out, as I could never trust their motives? ++**

**++ You said that their skill at subterfuge was to be admired, but the fact that you never knew where their end game was going to be was unnerving ++** Loken reminded them **++ Why? ++**

**++ Have any of you ever noticed that Omegon and Alpharius are the same height? ++**

**++ He is just an exceptionally tall Astarte ++** Torgaddon shrugged **++ it has been known to happen, rare as it is ++**

Aximand shook his head. **++ It isn't Omegon that bothers me, it's Alpharius... or rather, 'Alpharius' ++ **He scowled beneath his helmet. **++ I do not trust them ++**

The other three Mournival brothers glanced at each other: Aximand's melancholia was known, but even this was too far for him. Abaddon removed his helm and tucked it under his arm; as if it was a hidden signal, the others did like the esteemed First Captain.

"Ezekyle," Horus quietly spoke as the next vessel arrived in line with the _Great Khan_ and the _Beta_, "perhaps you would like to greet Perturabo for me."

Abaddon bowed his head and left the chamber. Tarik turned to his brothers and ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "I did not think Perturabo would answer the call."

"Why not?" Horus asked

"I mean no disrespect, Lord," Tarik inclined his head, "but like Lords Curze and Angron, Perturabo is not particularly sociable; none of the Iron Warriors are, as far as I'm concerned."

"I do not blame them for that," Loken mused, "being stuck in siege warfare is not good for morale; no wonder they are a little moody."

Horus joined his remaining favoured sons and sat down, motioning for them to join him. He looked at the ring that his father had given him, and was silent for a moment, contemplating the Dreadful Sagittary.

"A lot of Perturabo's achievements have been overshadowed by Rogal Dorn, and the rest by the various other Primarchs. I have done my best to limit that, recently, though that has only caused more tension with my other brothers - Corax... But Dorn and Perturabo - they could have been twins, for they think alike, and their strategies are similar. I always said that the greatest war of attrition possible would be the Iron Warriors laying siege to one of the Imperial Fists' bastions. I was joking at the time; but now… now I am not so sure, my sons. Perturabo is closest, among all of us, to myself and Magnus, and perhaps Fulgrim. Him and Jaghatai - those are the two Primarchs I was most sure about. Though, if Russ will come, anything is possible." He paused, looking down at the Sagittary again. "I still dream that Magnus is carrying out some elaborate prank."

"I have not received the impression Magnus was inclined to pranks, my lord," Loken respectfully spoke.

Horus smirked dryly. "In that, Garvi, you are correct; as much as his psychic power awes me, for there is only one man whose psychic ability is greater than Magnus's, his stores of learning are equally vast, and they have made him a serious being.

"Perhaps more then any of us, Magnus values the knowledge of the worlds he brings into compliance. I know that Russ and others, myself included, have stated that the Thousand Sons are scholars first and warriors second; but then, if it were not for the vast amount of knowledge that the Thousand Sons have accumulated, the true scholars would know so much less.

"When it comes to the Warp, I must listen to Magnus or else to my father. After Nikaea, Magnus took a great risk coming to me at all. I should have, if I had stayed loyal, sent him to Terra in chains. But I never will. Magnus is just as loath to break Father's laws as I am, but he did it for a reason, and so - well, the road from listening to Magnus leads directly here." Horus picked his wine goblet up. "And Perturabo and Jaghatai, and the Wolf King, will listen too, even if Russ does not want to. By the Throne, he is harder to contain then Angron and Curze sometimes," Horus sighed.

"Or us," Tarik mused, which got a chuckle all around.

"That is true, my son." Horus smiled, and when he did so, his sons smiled with him. "We are, after all, the Luna Wolves, and we are the strongest Legion."

"Lupercal!" they chorused.

Horus nodded and returned his gaze to his viewport. The easy two were here, plus the one he should have expected; and Russ was coming. Anything was possible.

He looked back at the Sagittary.

Anything, except what he really wanted.

* * *

><p>The<em> Iron Blood<em> moved to anchor above the_ Great Khan,_ and the Stormbird left its hull. Abaddon watched as it crossed the distance of vacuum between its mothership and the _Vengeful Spirit._ He had six of his Terminators with him; the Justaerin were Horus's honour guard, so he had instead chosen from Squad Tempus.

He moved to one knee, as did the rest of his guard, as the Stormbird came in and the ramp lowered to allow Perturabo and his First Captain down the ramp.

"My lord Perturabo, welcome aboard the _Vengeful Spirit._ Primarch Horus apologises for being unable to meet you personally, but he will meet you in the great chamber shortly." Abaddon kept his gaze to the floor.

He had gazed upon The Comrade once before, and it had almost taken his breath away. His visage was, despite everything, what humans would consider beautiful. But unlike his brothers, Perturabo never smiled. In fact, Abaddon could not recall ever seeing the lord of Olympia smile, in any of his numerous meetings with the Lord of Iron.

"Thank you, Ezekyle," the deep voice of Perturabo responded. "Rise, First Captain, and tell me who else is here."

Abaddon nodded at the Terminators of Squad Tempus, who fell into step behind Perturabo and Forrix.

"Lords Alpharius and Jaghatai have not long since arrived, my lord; and Lord Magnus is here, and has been for several months," Abaddon explained.

Perturabo arched a slight eyebrow at the mention of the Crimson King's long stay; but he said nothing on the matter. He liked Abaddon, so he did not perceive Horus's absence as an insult, The Luna Wolves' First Captain had a reputation to be proud of, and it was earnt in the crucible of war. Of course there were those who believed absurd stories about his origins, even that he was Horus's gene son from a time before the Emperor, but he tried not to listen to such whispers. Like all Space Marines, Abaddon worshipped his Primarch, and his additional low tolerance for nonsense meant that focusing on said nonsense would lead to some amount of carnage.

As for Perturabo, honour was satisfied, and now the Lord of Iron was contemplating other recent events.

"Tell me, Ezekyle," Perturabo asked, "why Loken?"

"Why Loken is in the Mournival, my lord?"

"In the Mournival, yes - he is not a true son, is he?"

Abaddon smirked a little. "He is a warrior without peer… and he beat me to the punch."

Forrix laughed and even Perturabo nodded in amusement. "You beaten to the punch… I have to meet this pup," Forrix clapped Abaddon on the shoulder, "and it's your round, Ezekyle."

They passed through the _Vengeful Spirit_, in fairly high spirits for the Lord of Iron, and Abaddon even forgot the dark reason they were meeting in the first place.

To the extent that he knew it at all, Perturabo did not.

* * *

><p>Angelus and his men made their way, slowly, towards the bridge. They looked into every quarter they came past to see crewmembers slumped in varying dead poses. They had all seen the horrors war could inflict on mortal bodies, indeed, they still recalled the beasts of Caliban from their own time as mortals. This, however was almost - well, surreal, if Angelus was honest. He gripped his bolter tighter and stared down at the body of a shipsrating. He was in a state of undress, and some would say his back looked like he had been scratched by a woman in the throes of passion; but no woman that Angelus had ever known could leave scratches so deep the muscle and bone shone through.<br>_  
>The Heart of Chemos <em>was like a grave, and the nearer they got to the bridge, the more the lights started dimming. Unease settled across them all. It was not a feeling that they were used to, not one that was normally associated with Astartes, especially Astartes of the First Legion.

Angelus found himself muttering a benediction to the Emperor and the Lion. It was something he had doubted he would ever do, but in this mausoleum, he was not given to rationality.

**++ Captain Angelus, there was some sort of explosion down here ++** Reclusiarch Bedano's voice came across his private vox.  
><strong><br>++ Casualties? ++** Angelus demanded.

**++ Plenty, brother, there are bodies floating in space - and the Gellar field is broken. Brother, if they were in the Warp when this happened… ++** Bedano's voice trailed off.

He had no need to explain any further; everyone, from the lowliest shipsrating to the highly respected and feared Navigators, knew that there were terrors in the Warp. To have a hull breach in the Warp, the Astartes knew well, was a catastrophe beyond words. It was an explanation, perhaps a better one, now, than rebellion. The downside was that it could explain nearly any sort of madness, not only this one; and besides, the _Heart of Chemos_ had somehow gotten to the rendezvous point. Perhaps someone had survived?

**++ Are there any Emperor's Children there? ++** Angelus wanted to know.

Bedano was silent for a moment, then slowly answered **++ No, brother; but judging by the state of the bodies, they were shot by Astartes weaponry, and the bodies look as if they were welcoming it ++**

**++ If they were possessed by the creatures of the warp then I can see why ++ **Angelus sighed** ++Meet me on the bridge; we are about to make our way through to it now ++**

Bedano acknowledged the order, and then stood staring at the bodies for a moment or two. He was responsible for the spiritual fortitude of his battle-brothers, a Chaplain by another name, and yet – whilst he would follow his father on whatever course he chose for the Legion, any fate like this sat ill with him. A lot of what they did made him proud to be a Dark Angel: taking the worlds of man back from the non-believer, the heretic and xenos scum, destroying those that would defer the rule of the Emperor and who would not see him as Humanity's rightful god. But this, this was something else entirely. Because it did not look like this was a simple involuntary Warp breach.

He motioned with his crozius, and the Astartes went to leave, only to be confronted by reanimated corpses behind a behemoth of an Astarte. Bedano cocked his head to one side as his sigils flashed over the Emperor's Child.

The cogitator registered him as Brother Calinianous, a friendly of Medasa's company, though right now he did not look very friendly at all.

**++ Cousin, it is I, Bedano of the First Legion Astartes, the Dark Angels. What has gone on here? And what are those monstrosities behind you? ++**

Calinianous glanced behind him, and then back at the Reclusiarch and his Squad. **++ They serve the one true God of power, cousin - as will you ++**

**++ We all serve the Emperor; that is not in question. Stand aside, cousin, and let me put these wretches to sleep so that they may stand at the side of the Emperor in spirit. ++  
><strong>  
><strong>++I think not; did the Emperor not say that we were to choose our own way? Well, we have, and our way is so much more than even the Emperor can give to us. This is the ability to follow perfection to all its levels! ++<strong>

Bedano was losing his patience; the Emperor's Children had always been prideful fops, but this was worse. When the Lion had chosen his lot, he had fallen in with the Emperor, not the hedonistic deity called Slaanesh. He gripped his crozius and ordered his squad to raise their weapons. **++ Stand aside, cousin ++**

**++It is you, cousin, who should stand aside and allow the glory of ****_She–Who–Thirsts _****into your heart ++**

Bedano had heard enough and barked at his men to open fire.

* * *

><p>Angelus heard the firefight come over his vox unit; but before he could do anything about it, the bridge doors opened to reveal a sight of decadence such as he had never seen, even as a human. And lounging on the command throne, there was the captain of both the vessel and the 69th Company Emperor's Children, Medasa. Around him, crewmembers in various states of undress were engaging in - well, some of them were merely smoking powerful narcotics, while others were playing some sort of sexual theatrical production, but none seemed to be actually managing the vessel. There was a haze of smoke that smelt like some ancient temple in the air.<p>

Angelus was not in the least bit amused by his old battle comrade's behaviour.

"What is the meaning of this shambles?" he bellowed, causing Medasa to turn his head. "Well, cousin?"

Medasa went back to watching the bridge crew's drama and ignored his cousin's demand - until Angelus grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly pulled him to his feet.

"We are supposed to be taking the Ortega System for the Lion and the Phoenician. What is your explanation, Cousin? Why are those mortals not dressed, and why is the rest of your crew dead?!"

Medasa grabbed Angelus's hand and roughly shoved him away. "I got bored waiting for you, so I took the liberty of livening things up around here."

Medasa was slim for an Astartes, but he was no less powerful for it. Like his beloved Phoenician, his hair was a snow white, and his blue eyes seemed glassy with whatever he had been inhaling. He was also, like many of his brothers, a gifted swordsman; and although Jaffara Angelus was no slouch with a sword, he knew his counterpart was one of the best swordsmen in a Legion full of blademasters. He would lose a duel, and lose it badly.

"By leaving your crew to the elements of the Warp?! Cousin, have you gone mad? Bedano, get up here - Bedano, what, by the mane of the Lion, is going on there? Bedano, answer me!"

All he got in reply was bolter fire and roars to the Lion and the Emperor in his ear. Those, he supposed, spoke for themselves; and they did not sound like victorious screams. He ripped his helmet off and glared at Medasa.

"I am going to take you all back to Chemos in disgrace for this!" Angelus snarled. "You have gone against the Emperor's wishes!"

"The Emperor's wishes? I thought they were our father's wishes," Medasa mused.

"His wishes are enacted through the will of the Primarchs," Angelus shot back. "You have sunk so low from what you should be - you are no better then xenos by now!"

Medasa narrowed his eyes. "The Emperor's Children are not privy to the Dark Angels' laws. We do as we are told, but not by the likes of you. Get off my ship; and after Ortega has been dealt with, you and I will have a reckoning."

"Are we not allies, Medasa?"

"You are beneath my notice."

Angelus shook his head. He had his orders; but he was also a son of the Lion, and he knew that if he allowed this madman back to his own Legion, he would only encourage madness and chaos to spread even further. Bedano's last scream echoed from his helmet, which he held by his side; suddenly, he realised his own thought processes were being compromised, possibly irreversibly, by the accursed fog. How long had it even been since he had entered the ship? He would perhaps recover, but it was best to minimize risk. This disaster needed to end, by any means necessary.

**++ _Pride of Caliban_, Sergeant Orseria, come in ++**

**++ I hear you Captain, ++**

**++ Target this vessel and destroy it ++**

**++ Captain? ++**

**++ You heard me; the ship and company are yours. Inform our father that the Emperor's Children of the _Heart of Chemos_ were tainted ++**

There was silence for a moment; then, Sergeant Orseria acknowledged his Captain's words. Distantly, Angelus felt the first impacts of ordnance on the _Heart of Chemos_'s hull. The Third Legion vessel was quite incapable of firing back. Medasa continued to lounge.

Angelus raised his bolt pistol. "In the name of the Lion," he whispered, and fired.


	10. Chapter Nine

They had all come.

Well, all but Guilliman, but Horus Lupercal would easily have taken seven of eight a day ago. His brothers were here. The Isstvan system tensed with the presence of nine Primarchs. The remembrancers were running around, screaming, asking what the Throne was going on. Horus wished he knew.

The strategium of the _Vengeful Spirit_ was humming with power again; but this time, it was humming with a gathering of Primarchs not seen since Ullanor. Corax, Mortarion, Sanguinius, and Russ had all arrived. Horus had to keep his eyes on Russ and Mortarion's relation to Magnus, while simultaneously worrying about himself and Corax.

Corax had nodded at him when he had come into the room; but much to Horus's dismay, their original argument had not yet healed. Horus and Corax had been close friends, and worked together on numerous occasions; but the Battle of Gate Forty-Two, when Horus had done his best to heal his rift with Perturabo, had ended in the death of thousands of Raven Guard. And the Raven Lord had a long memory, and did not forget such slights easily. Loken had said as much when he had returned from meeting the Primarch of the Raven Guard.

Torgaddon and Abaddon had met Mortarion, whilst Loken had met Sanguinius; and Little Horus had been joined by Lupercal himself to meet Russ. When Russ had discovered that Magnus had used sorcery again, he had been on the verge of breaking out into violence then and there; but now, in the command centre, he kept his choler contained.

"Thank you all for coming." Horus rose to his feet and walked around the table, greeting them all. He stopped before Corax, who met his unflinching gaze. "If what I believe has happened occurred, and if what Magnus says is true, then we need to bury our distrust of each other."

**++ What is he doing? It is Corax who hates us ++** Abaddon seethed.

**++ He is playing the diplomat Ezekyle ++** Little Horus explained **++ He needs Corax on our side, and to do that, he is having to admit that they are both wrong; it is the only way he will get Corax to work with him ++**

Abaddon muttered something rude under his breath, but even he could see the wisdom in Little Horus's words.

Corax looked at Horus's outstretched hand and got to his feet "My Legion," he said in fury, "lost twenty thousand that day, Warmaster."

"And I am deeply sorry for that," Horus said. "I had taken you for granted, and focused to the insult to my pride, to the exclusion of all else; and the price of that was paid by your sons. I do not ask you to forget; but we will need to work together again."

Corax was silent for a moment; then, the Lord of Deliverance shook Horus's hand and was pulled into a hug. "I will not forget," Corax said, "but all of us err, and not all would have admitted it when the mistake was so great."

"Thank you, my brother," Horus whispered, more relieved then he thought he would be.

He nodded once at Corax and resumed his greeting and welcome. Finally, he came to Magnus's chair, and raised his voice, looking at the assembled Primarchs.

"To prevent us from immediately devolving into infighting when discussing recent changes in the Great Crusade," Horus firmly stated, "we will first hear one another discuss their observations, and only then discuss future courses of action. This is an order, given by my authority as Warmaster, as well as a plea, given as a brother. We will talk about what we saw, and only then will we discuss, debate, and argue." The other Primarchs, mostly curious as to what in the Warp Horus was planning, nodded their agreement. "And now, I ask you to send away all of your sons, excepting Ahzek Ahriman and Amon of the Thousand Sons, who possess relevant materials."

The other Primarchs did so. With a nod, Horus dismissed the Mournival. Then, he rested a hand on the Crimson King's shoulder. Magnus knew the cue and cleared his throat.

"Six months ago, whilst I was communing with the Great Ocean, I felt the death scream of Venus IX," he began.

Russ's neck vein throbbed at his psyker brother's open admission of going against the Nikaea accord.

"What made you disobey our father, then?" Mortarion asked; he trusted psykers less than Russ, and it was known that he did his best to allow none in his Legion. Ahriman wanted to remind the Death Lord that his own First Captain was a potent psyker; he had seen his aura earlier, and had not needed to enter the Enumerations to do so. Typhon was positively glowing with power.

"I was merely passing the time, and passively sensed the end of a world; I was not in any contravention of Nikaea at that point," Magnus calmly explained. "I only broke the law when I turned towards the death scream and saw what – what Rogal Dorn had done."

The silence was dangerous, Magnus's words weighed heavily in the air; and as every Astartes, Primarch or otherwise, expected, it was broken by shouts of liar, madman and psyker bastard; but the biggest shout came from Russ.

"You lying witch!" he roared. "Rogal Dorn is no murderer; I should cut out your beating heart and feed it to my wolves!"

"Whether you like me or not, brother, I would never lie about something like this!" Magnus shot back.

Russ launched himself towards the Crimson King. "I will cut your lies from you, Cyclops!"

Sanguinius wrapped his arms around Russ, and with a strength that had everyone gasping, he held Russ fast; Corax and Perturabo, meanwhile, held Magnus from meeting the Wolf King's lunge.

"Calm your choler, Russ." Sanguinius held Russ tighter as the Wolf King struggled, like a dog on a leash. "Whatever we may think about Magnus's power, it is his birthright and a legacy of Father's genetics. Balance your humours; and you will know that, no matter what you think of his witch-sight, Magnus has never told a lie. He has a wisdom beyond any of us, myself and Horus included."

He put Russ in his seat and left his hand on his shoulder. He nodded towards Corax and Perturabo, who let Magnus go. Russ wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You believe it?" he glared at Horus, who was inwardly sighing that his earlier command had been so immediately disobeyed.

"Firstly, let me remind you of our earlier agreement. But yes, I believe him," Horus nodded. "I sent Captains Abaddon and Loken, along with Captain Ahriman, to Venus IX; and the proof they brought back ties in with everything Magnus has said."

"Like what, exactly?" Perturabo asked.

"Imperial Fist Scouts in an area on Venus IX called the Forbidden Zone, my lord," Ahriman spoke after a glance from Horus. "Captains Loken and Abaddon, and myself, found a survivor who told us that the scouts attacked them. Moreover, they stole an illegal item from the old temple."

"So why were they there, if it was a forbidden area?" Corax asked Ahriman, also straining more than a little bit against his distrust of psykers.

"It has to do with a religious civil war, Lord Corax." Ahriman bowed his head a little.

Like all Astartes would have been, he was overawed by the Primarchs that sat here, and found the only way to keep his sensibilities was to keep his gaze a little lower then normal. Otherwise, he would have entirely forgotten what he was about to say; and after the anger shown by Russ towards his father, he was not about to disappoint Magnus.

"Oh?" Alpharius turned his head. "Go on, Ahzek."

Ahriman beamed inside that another Primarch, and mysterious Alpharius at that, was referring to him by his name.

"Before the Imperial Fists discovered the world, it was in many ways like Colchis was before Lord Lorgar arrived there. The people were ruled by the ancient religions of pleasure, disease, magick, and blood. Somewhere along the line, the people grew tired and angry at the sacrifices of human life demanded by their culture and they rebelled.

"A holy war ensued, lasting for some years; but eventually the jihads were put down. The areas the priests had controlled, however, had a supernatural hold over the populace; and even after they were destroyed, and the last remnants of their army and government were killed, strange things were said to happen around the area of what became the Forbidden Zone.

"The rulers of the new government decided that, to stop people from wondering and setting up homes within the area, it would be policed by those who were strong in mind and body."

"So there was a protection force that guarded this Forbidden Zone?" Perturabo mused. "They would have had to be pretty strong in the mind, then, to ward off such deeply held superstitions."

"Yes, my lord," Ahriman agreed. "We also found communication transcripts between the Phalanx and the ground; the people of Venus IX were getting ready to greet Lord Dorn and his Fists."

"What they got instead," Ahriman turned to the screen and put on his helm's imagery, along with that from Loken and Abaddon, "was massacred, my lords."

Not a sound was heard as the entire video review was watched. Loken had wanted to destroy the evidence he had seen, such was its sickening extent; but Horus had made him keep it, and this was why.

Ahriman risked briefly glancing at the Primarchs' faces. Perturabo was, as usual, unreadable, but Loken swore he saw a flicker behind the Lord of Olympia's eyes. Mortarion and Corax were grim-faced. Magnus, who had not yet seen this himself, was distressed visibly by what he saw. Russ's cheek vein throbbed; Alpharius rubbed his jaw and glanced at the doors, towards where Omegon and Pech were, but his helmet still covered part of his face. The Khan muttered something in his native language and clenched his fists. Sanguinius closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face; Rogal was one of his closest brothers, and he had no idea why the Praetorian himself would possibly do such a thing. Horus nodded and Ahriman killed the feed.

Some of the Primarchs had virus bombs in their fleets. None had yet seen the aftermath of their use.

"Such is the proof, brothers." He stopped as the doors opened and Roboute Guilliman, the Battle-King of Macragge, walked in.

The gathering was complete.

"Forgive my lateness, brothers; there was something I had to deal with en route." He gripped Horus's hand. "Your Equerry was most kind to greet me."

Horus showed Guilliman to a seat and handed him a pict-feed so that he could see what the others had just witnessed.

"Well is it just Rogal?" Sanguinius asked.

"No" Mortarion rasped, his voice, as ever, broken by his intake of Barbarus air. "No, it was not. We came across a Salamanders vessel; she was dead in space after a firefight. When we boarded her, we found the crew all dead; but the Astartes had the expressions of broken men, and most had even been crying when they died."

Alpharius cocked his head. "Really?"

"Really," Mortarion conceded, "but I found a human woman. She was obviously being protected by the Salamanders within; but whilst they lasted longer, she would not have survived the first wave of the massive psychic attack that killed the rest of the ship. In her hand, there was a pict feeder, and I have tested it time and time again - I have had my Techmarines go over it dozens of times - and it is not a fake. It shows the Emperor with Angron and Vulkan, addressing their sons and the remembrancers." Mortarion paused for a moment, as if he could not believe what he was about to say.

"Then, it shows Angron and Vulkan, and the Emperor, killing the Rememberancers and those of their own sons who would not follow whatever madness they are entering."

Gulliman ran a hand down his face, his usual cold demeanour shaken (like his brothers') to the core by what they had seen and heard. He almost hated that he also needed to make an explanation, but Alpharius got in there first.

"Sanguinius and I were working a joint illumination; we were entering negotiations on the planet Racas." He took the goblet of wine that Ahriman gave him and thanked him with a nod. "They were stalling, there was no other word for it."

"In what way?" Horus turned to Sanguinius.

The Angel shifted in his seat, and his feathers ruffled, as if blown by a breeze; but of course there was no wind, merely an Angel uncomfortable with the situation. But he found it easier to state facts, and think about them later.

"I put forward the terms for the new vision the world was to take; and, as Alpharius quite rightly said, they were simply stalling, as if they were waiting for something. Alpharius asked me to keep them talking whilst he initiated an investigation in the way that he and his sons do best."

Perturabo arched an eyebrow. "And?"

Alpharius scratched his nose's unhelmeted side, an oddly human gesture for one that was so far above human. "I have a team of human agents that allow me to get the information I require when an Astartes presence would not be subtle enough. They went through the city and into the local art gallery. My agents felt distinctively uncomfortable there with the paintings that were on show; and from what I have read, they seem oddly similar to Venus IX's gods."

Horus rubbed his brow and sighed a little, wishing that Alpharius would actually get to the point; but he knew that the Specialist was nothing if not thorough in his explanations. And besides, if it stopped Russ from wanting to rip Magnus's throat out, so be it.

"My team were attacked and badly beaten by the Chemos Third Intelligence corps," Alpharius finished. "The uxor had already had a bad feeling about the place: in her words, those paintings seemed to 'reach out and hold them all in'."

"Uxor?" Corax asked.

"They are female members of the Geno Five-Two Chiliad known for their exceptional Psyker abilities," Horus enlightened his brother. "The 'Cept, as they call it, is strong when they are young women, but as they get older it wanes into nothingness. I recall Father speaking of how he had fought alongside the Geno Five-Two Chiliad during the Unification Wars on Terra; he spoke very highly of them."

"I see," Corax inclined his head in thanks for the illumination, "but why were they attacked by the Chemos Third Intelligence? Aren't they attached to Fulgrim's sons?"

"Yes," Sanguinius near-whispered. "We know that; and before we could investigate the possibility of the Emperor's Children being present, and more to the point, why they kept their presence hidden, the idiots attacked us. And not just that: the creatures they employed were most similar to those generated by possessed psykers, creatures that killed Imperial Army personnel and Astartes alike." Sanguinius took something from his robe and set it on the table. "When Alpharius and I went back to the halls of power, we found this in the governor's chambers."

Horus picked up the cloak clasp and stared at the wing-and-claw symbol of the Emperor's Children.

"We did long-range scans, but could find no vessel, although that would be moot anyhow, seeing as we were engaged in war after that."

"Sounds too convenient," Perturabo mused as he took the clasp from Horus and turned it over in his hands.

"Exactly." Alpharius narrowed his eyes.

"Your people get beaten, and just when you both seek answers, war breaks out. I have no doubt that a vessel of the Emperor's Children was there, but they would have been hidden from the long range auspexes and scanners. Not to mention, you and Sanguinius would have been too busy planetside. Whoever it was would have slipped away in the melee and confusion of war."

Alpharius closed his eyes and inclined his head. "Quite, brother."

Perturabo nodded and handed the clasp to Magnus. "Perhaps, brother, there is something you can pick up, or one of your sons, from this?"

Magnus glanced at Amon and handed it to him. "Normally I would do this; but I need to remain focused, and I need Ahriman here."

"I shall do my best, my lord." Amon bowed his head and, taking the clasp, walked out of the room.

Magnus got up to stretch his legs and clear his mind. He moved to the viewport and his ever-changing eye caught sight of the warp. No matter where any of them went in space, the warp was there, though more clearly visible in some skies than others. His heart soared at its presence; at least he could draw upon it, if he needed too. He felt a presence at his shoulder and turned to see Russ standing there.

"I am not here to argue with you, Leman," Magnus stated; but he was already preparing himself for another verbal exchange. The Wolf King, however, instead wrongfooted him.

"Do you remember the two brothers we do not mention?"

Magnus arched an eyebrow and nodded. They all did, and they all knew who it was that had enacted the Emperor's will upon them. There were many who saw Russ and the Rout as nothing more then the Emperor's executioners. Of course, no one would actually say that to the Wolf King, not in so many words; he was as fierce as the world that had raised him and quick to temper, and did not take anything that might be a slight to honour well.

"You would do well to," Leman Russ said, with terrifying calm.

"Leman," Magnus quietly answered, "If I am wrong, I will bare my throat to you and let you rip it out."

"You are that certain?"

"I am that certain."

Russ arched both his eyebrows. "We will see, when the time for observation is done."

The Wolf King returned to his seat, but his piercing gaze never left Magnus's back. He hated witchery of any kind; those of his sons that were touched by the powers of the Warp at all drew it from Fenris and harmonised themselves through her. He would never get used to the myriad powers that Magnus and his sons wielded. But Sanguinius and Horus were right: Magnus was wise as he was powerful, and loath as Russ was to admit it, if he was certain, the Crimson King deserved to be heard out.

Magnus shut everything out and closed his eye. He wanted to soar in the Great Ocean, to see if he could help the council understand exactly what was happening to his father, and his brothers.

But the Great Ocean was not going to give up its secrets so easily, even to one such as him. Still, they would find a way.

Of that, he was certain.

* * *

><p>Erebus sat, listening to his spy within the Death Guard. His news was not welcoming, but the First Chaplain found it difficult to concentrate on it, still shocked at the death of Kor Phaeron. It was obvious that he had to ensure that he remained on his father's good side from this day forward.<p>

Erebus curtly ended the conversation and sat back, running a hand over his lower jaw. Horus and the others were getting to know too much, and he cursed Angron's dogs for letting the Salamander vessel escape. Depending on how much Mortarion could deduce from that, they might have a full-fledged rebellion of four or five Astarte Legions on their hands. Lorgar would have to be told when it became clear; but as of yet, there were only speculation. From the sounds of it, Horus had sent for no less than nine other Primarchs. What this could, potentially, lead to - though Sanguinius, Russ, and Corax would never fall, at least.

Of course, with anything related to Curze, they would not be surprised by literally anything he and his sons did; that would not be a problem. Erebus knew, however, that once they traced it all to the Emperor, the endgame would begin.

The Emperor knew well that the other Primarchs were a threat to even Him. Horus and Sanguinius were the two strongest Primarchs in melee combat, and together - together, they would have been more than a match for the Emperor himself, if not for His psychic powers. And together with Magnus, they would match the Emperor overall, three on one - and, of course, Magnus was already a traitor.

But the Warmaster, the First Primarch, was more loyal than not. And Sanguinius would never fall. And such considerations were for his superiors anyhow.

Erebus turned as the doors to his chamber opened; he was about to reprimand whoever had seen fit to disturb his peace when he saw Lorgar standing there. His hearts hammered in his chest and he moved to one knee, head bowed low.

"News, Erebus?" Lorgar asked, carrying the crozius that still had Kor Phaeron's blood on it.

"The other Primarchs are aware that something is amiss, father."

Lorgar nodded and waved his hand impatiently, signifying that his First Chaplain should rise.

"Is your spy in place?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, Lord, and he is anxious to do his part; I told him to be patient. When the word comes from the Emperor, we shall let him loose."

Lorgar shook his head. "Do not underestimate my brother, Erebus," he warned, "there is a reason he is called the Death Lord. Our monikers are not given lightly."

Erebus nodded in agreement, but countered, "Typhon has much to be disgruntled from, for he might be descended from the very warlords that Mortarion displaced. He is not truly committed to the Death Lord. And he is not the only one."

Lorgar ran his hand along the framed parchments in Erebus's private quarters. His room was everything that Lorgar expected of his warriors. There were ancient works of prayer, devotionals to the Emperor, and Lorgar's own works.

He glanced at the First Chaplain to see one of his own catechisms, penned in delicate Colchidan script, across the pauldron on his left arm. He murmured a noise of approval and clasped his hands behind his back.

"You are not gong to be a problem for me, are you, Erebus?"

Erebus was completely thrown by his lord's question, and he immediately moved to one knee in supplication.

"No, father; you have proved beyond a doubt that you are a warrior, as well as a man of words, but even if you were not I would continue my devotion."

"I want you to make peace with Argel Tal."

"Lord?"

"You heard me, Erebus." Lorgar rested a hand on his shoulder. "I want you and Argel Tal to make peace."

Erebus rose to his feet and bowed his head. "It might take some time, Lord," he admitted.

Lorgar shrugged a little; he was well-aware that Erebus had taken the warrior under his wing when he had chosen him, long ago, to serve in the legion of the Word. He had wanted Argel Tal to follow in his footsteps; but there was no chance of that. He had chosen a different path, one that had led him away from his mentor. But his path, now, made him more then even Erebus could have envisioned; and additionally, Lorgar was well-aware that Erebus, like Kor Phaeron, had not liked the fact that Tal and his brothers were more or less Lorgar's bodyguard these days, possessed of a close bond with the Primarch.

"However long it takes, make it happen. He is a credit to you, First Chaplain; I do not want envy to totally destroy what you moulded."

"My lord is too kind," Erebus humbly spoke. "What shall I tell Typhon, Father?"

Lorgar met his First Chaplain's dark eyes with his own. "Tell him to do as I tell him, or he will find the consequences too dire to contemplate. I want the Death Guard alongside the Emperor, and if I can't have all of them, then half will do."

Lorgar let the words hang for a moment, then smiled quickly, in that disarming smile that had made Colchis his.

"Come; it is time to head planetside to Colchis for recruitment, and you are to choose the future Dark Apostles."

"Dark Apostles?" Erebus arched an eyebrow.

"I thought it a fitting name. The darkness, which carries upon itself endless light." Well, Erebus had to admit that Asweri's works were a fitting place to come up with a new name for his detachment. Lorgar knew well his love of the ancient prophet's writings.

Erebus picked his skull-faced helm up and walked, with his father, out of his quarters.

* * *

><p>Corax stood, staring out the window that afforded him a view of his ship. His mind whirled with everything that had been said in the last four hours, and it was not finished yet. They had yet to hear from the Ultimate Warrior, and both the Great Wolf and Sand Warrior had something to say; but right now, his thoughts were concentrated on the claims that the Emperor had aided his mad brothers.<p>

He had heard the words from the Crimson King's own lips; but afterwards, seeing what the two Luna Wolves and the Thousand Son had seen done at the hands of Rogal Dorn, and then seeing the footage of Angron and Vulkan killing their own sons as well as mortals - all of that was hard enough to take in. Well, he supposed no one would be surprised at Angron going over the edge one day, but this - the Emperor? The master of mankind? There was simply no way; the images had been doctored.

Maybe this was a set up. (As he looked at the black fabric of the universe, with the stars shining like intermittent lights on a Stormbird, he caught Horus's reflection in the glass, quietly talking to Ahriman.) Part of Corax believed that Horus was simply trying to win allies to an unjustified revolt; it was no secret that he had felt abandoned by the Emperor when he had withdrawn from the Great Crusade. It was also no secret that he had felt slighted at being left out of the Emperor's plans, and having to place the Legions conquests under the purview of the Council of Terra.

But as much as some of him wanted this explanation to be true, he knew it was not; there was no love lost between the two brothers, but even Corax had been disappointed at his father's retirement from the great endeavour that he had started so long ago, and at the Council of Terra, and yet he had not even contemplated this being possible.

"Corvus." He turned to see Alpharius behind him. "You look distracted."

"I am certainly not distracted, Alpharius; I have merely just had all I am gene-wrought to believe in turned upside down." He could not keep the sarcasm from his tone, and Alpharius inclined his head a little.

"My apologies; it was a stupid comment."

Corax shook his head and ran a pale hand through his hair, then sighed. "I should apologise, it's just – damn it, Alpharius, this is the Emperor we are talking about here, and not just him but Vulkan and Dorn too." The note of despair in Corax's voice was evident and unfamiliar to the lord of the Alpha Legion; none of the Primarchs dealt with that emotion too easily, as it was uncharted territory for them.

They felt the death of their sons, in the fires of battle, but as Primarchs they were supposed to be far above despair. They were supposed to be free from all emotions in the magnitudes that crippled mortal men, but right now was not a time when such conditioning held true. At the end of the day, they were brothers, and the current news was - well, Corax was only thinking about it with perhaps a tenth part of his mind, and despite that his entire self seemed to be going mad. And now, the subjugation of Mars and the repudiation, for unclear reasons, of a treaty that had stood for two centuries.

"Why?" Corax whispered, to no one in particular.

"Why what?" Alpharius stood beside his brother.

"Why all this _now_. Dorn and Vulkan, Ferrus and el'Jonson - those are some of our most respected brothers!"

The room had fallen silent, Corax's voice carrying to every Primarch and Astarte in the room. They listened to the Lord of Deliverance voice the questions that were in their minds too.

"I can believe Angron going over the line, and I can believe that maybe Fulgrim has a rogue element in his human military; after all, inter-army feuds are not unheard of, especially without our sons' brotherhood. But this - the notion that everyone has become deranged?!"

Alpharius went to rest a hand on his brother's shoulder in an attempt to reassure him, but Corax shrugged it off roughly. "You expect me to believe that our father is turning his sons to some dark purpose? I say it is you all that have been fooled by a human's toy!"

Horus inwardly sighed once more; reminding them of the agreement to observe first would do no good, though he suspected that without it the room would already have become a brawl.

Perturabo rose from his seat and made his way across to where Corax was standing, visibly failing to hold his temper in.

"Brother of Ravens," he respectfully spoke, "had I not encountered some unusual occurrence, I would not be here. The Lion himself offered me the chance to stand by father's side in a new mission, one that he refused to clarify. Because I refused to go along with such folly, a bastion I had built with my own hands was attacked by the Eldar's dark kin. And both Russ and the Khan heard the words from its own lips - the Eldar were shown the weak spot by none other then the Lion himself. It is not just one brother but several who are privy to father's new design. So why would he not include any of us? Are we not all, to an extent, equals?"

Corax clenched his fists. "What are you saying?" he asked, with all the hostility the two brothers' hatred threw forward. Corax and Perturabo, Horus reflected, liked each other very little.

"Only that times have changed, no more," Perturabo said, and suddenly Horus felt his iron glare on himself.

"Perhaps this will contribute to our decision." Magnus came back into the room with his son Amon, who looked distinctly pale and drawn.

Corax moved back a little; he, like some of his brothers, had a distrust of psykers, their father being the exception to the rule.

"Now, Amon: focus your thoughts and show my brothers what you showed me."

The Primarchs listened in absolute silence as Amon, clutching the Emperor's Children clasp, replayed the entire discussion on Racas as if he had been there - in the voices of the people who were there. They heard, in a fashion it was impossible to without the help of the Warp, Fulgrim himself talking to Ferrac and their discussion of the god of pleasure and pain. They listened, then, to the designation of Lucius, the Thirteenth Captain of the Third Legion, to the position of delegate. They almost saw the debauchery that Ferrac's chambers became nightly, and Lucius's increasing interest in it. They tasted the fear Ferrac held of the Emperor's Children Captain, who brought back the ways of 'Nasheba' to his Legion. And they felt, in every part of their bones, Fulgrim's final promise to Ferrac: that if the Racasians rose up against the Blood Angels and Alpha Legions, and carried out the proper rituals, they would win, with Fulgrim's help. They heard it all. And above all, they heard the Emperor's Children talk of that faith, faith in a god that the Racasians called Nasheba and many of the Third Legion called Slaanesh, and join in the worship of a false god - in addition, so it appeared, to actually worshiping the Emperor as a god.

The promise Fulgrim had made had been broken, the Primarchs knew, and none felt any sympathy whatsoever for Ferrac; but Amon was visibly struggling with the retelling, as he moved towards the war that would cause a world's desolation.

Sanguinius moved forward and told Magnus to end it, that he had heard enough; and Magnus, knowing there was more, nevertheless guided Amon back and helped him to stand. Then, the Crimson King nodded at Ahriman and told him to take Amon back to the ship, and stay with him. Magnus himself would return shortly to check on him. But the discussion that was about to begin was for Primarchs' ears only.

Corax leant on the table; even he knew that what he had heard was real. All the Primarchs held some of their father's psyker abilities. Not all of them were strongly attuned to them, but Magnus was second in power to none save his father, other Legions' mistrust Magnus never lied.

Perturabo ran a hand down his face; it was plain to see that what he had heard had struck a chord within him. He was above the emotions of mortals and Astartes, but even he could feel horror as Lucius sank towards madness, and as Fulgrim endorsed a course of action that the Phoenician had known would lead to war and disaster, all for his own benefit. Fulgrim had been his friend - had he?

This went against everything they knew of the Phoenician, and all eyes turned to Horus.

"Roboute?" Horus quietly asked.

"I had a run in with Konrad," the lord of the Ultramarines was drawn from his quiet contemplation, "and he said that things were changing, that all he was doing was enforcing our father's will. When I tried to get clarification on it, I was told that Curze was doing as our father had always told him to do: spreading enlightenment and dealing with those who did not follow his ways. Dealing with them, as it happened, by having his sons personally murder an entire world. Planetocide not by bombs, or by trickery, but by Astarte claws. Yet the Imperial Palace seemed unmoved."

"And you heard this from the Emperor's own mouth?" the Khan asked.

"No, Lorgar."

"Lorgar!" Russ snorted. "Since when does that outdated monk speak for father?"

"Valdor confirmed that Lorgar spoke for Father," Guilliman said, and the room descended into a tense silence again.

Warmaster Horus Lupercal was the one to break it.

"We have all made our observations," he said. "Now we make our choice. There is no way to deny it, not anymore. Our father, and those of our brothers not here, have gone mad. They have embraced religion in its most destructive aspects, and now the path of the Great Crusade will be carved not in loyalty and enlightenment, but in death alone. The Emperor's dream is gone. But the dream of mankind is not. I will continue battling for the eternal light, though the fight is against my own father and my Imperium. Now, as the flames of belief spread across the galaxy, I will stand to defy them." Horus swept his gaze across the nine other Primarchs. "Who stands with me?!"


	11. Chapter Ten

Sonsu, Khan of the White Scars' Brotherhood of the Sand, looked at Mannran of the Iron Warriors. The latter stood silently, looking at the distant strategium doors.

Ahriman and Amon had been sent away, and there was now no one in the room except ten Primarchs. The complete Mournival joined the other Marines, from the various Legions. Remembrancers were roughly shooed away, but they kept coming, even though the Primarchs were locked in seclusion, simply to look at the Astartes. Calas Typhon of the Death Guard was here; so was Marius Gage, First Chapter Master of the Ultramarines. It was a gathering of the brightest stars of ten Legions.

Sonsu found it difficult to focus on those brothers, or for that matter on First Captain Forrix of the Fourth; let Qin Xa debate with them. But Mannran, sergeant of Perturabo's bluish-armored bodyguard, the Cobalt Brotherhood, somehow seemed closer to Sonsu's own level.

"What is it that concerns you, cousin?" Sonsu asked.

"Is it not obvious? There is a gathering there -" Mannran gazed at the doors piercingly - "that none of us, save the Luna Wolves, have an inkling of the significance of. But ten Primarchs, Sonsu Khan. It will change anything, whatever it is."

"Aye," Sonsu said, "but there is something else, is there not?"

Mannran paused, staring at the doors. Then he beckoned Sonsu closer.

"The Lord of Iron," he said quietly, "has little need for a mortal bodyguard. He has increasingly been delegating our duties to the automata of the Iron Circle. Some fear we are to be disbanded. I dread that, to an extent, the loss of the Cobalt Brotherhood's traditions; but after D'reana Jackala, and the argument with the Lion, that seems to have changed. He still favors the Iron Circle, but no longer clearly disfavors us."

Sonsu twirled his moustache. "But is that not a good thing?"

"Not entirely," Mannran said. "It is not in Perturabo's nature to change so suddenly, about anything. But when he does... I have no idea of what my Primarch will do in that room, Sonsu Khan. But I can assure you that, more than ever, he is capable of anything."

Sonsu Khan looked at the strategium doors, in deep thought.

"I think," he said in the end, "that right now this is true of all our fathers."

* * *

><p>There was a moment when Horus feared that no one would back him, that he had made a treacherous fool of himself; and then, of course, Magnus rose and walked to Horus's left side, facing the other Primarchs.<p>

"I have explained what I have seen," he stated. "I know not all of you trust it, for it was gained by sorcery; but the truth is, my father went too far on the path of the psyker too fast, and fell to its temptations. It is easy, you know, to gain power by sacrificing purity when dealing with the Warp. In truth, I have brushed that darkness too close, too many times. That is why I sent orders to reorganise my Legion, before coming here.

"But I have not gone nearly as far as our father; and so, for all his wisdom, he was convinced that power was more important than morality. And I know full well how such stories end. The Great Ocean can be a way to accomplish great things, a Primordial Creator. That is what the Imperium was. But our father chose the aspect of the Primordial Annihilator, instead, an aspect we speak little of because it has no use that does not corrupt.

"I still believe we can build greatness, and that the destiny of the human race is psychic. But what I have seen leaves no doubt in my mind that the Emperor is lost. I fight, as always, for hope and truth, riding the waves of the Great Ocean. And that means that I stand with you, Horus Lupercal. All is light."

Magnus finished his speech, and a few seconds later, Mortarion rose and walked to Horus's right side.

"I do not stand with you, Horus, for Magnus's prophecies," he said, "though I admit that I underestimated him. But on Barbarus, I lived for one task and one task only. I was the leader of the humans, who fought against the impure, mutated Tyrants in the foggy mountains above. And that has been my task ever since. I am the Guardian of Death, and I bring it forth against oppressors.

"I have met many such tyrants in the course of the Great Crusade, human and xeno. And I have crushed them utterly. Such is the Fourteenth Legion's way. We stand, resolutely, against dark order. And now I face the most orderly darkness of all. I have seen the pict-feeds, and they are real. The Emperor has become a tyrant, just as much as the insectoid necromancers of Barbarus.

"So, then, I do not know what sort of time we are entering. All I know is what we are fighting against, and that is the hypocritical monster than the Emperor now is and, perhaps, has always been - and what we are fighting for, which is humanity. In all its imperfect glory. And that is why I stand with you, Horus. To bring doom upon the despot."

About twenty seconds passed before Jaghatai Khan rose and walked to Magnus's left. The other Primarchs began to stand, too, but at the opposite side of the room.

"I will be brief," Jaghatai said. "We know little of what is truly going on in the Emperor's mind. All we know is that he is going against every principle of good rule. He secluded himself from the Crusade, only to begin undermining his Warmaster's authority. And he authorizes his sons to kill worlds for no good reason, while delegating command to Lorgar, who was for decades incapable of understanding the basic principles of the Imperial Truth. I do not understand him anymore; but I understand you, Horus, and you, Magnus. And so I stand with you, to sing freedom together."

The fifth to rise, a few seconds thereafter, was Alpharius. He went to Mortarion's right.

"I," he said, "am quite capable, as is necessary for a Legion that operates like the Alpha, at detecting small lies. But it seems I am unable to see titanic ones. I am sorry, Horus Lupercal, for Sixty-Three Nineteen; but also, I am sorry for believing the foulest of lies, which had a mantle of truth, that was spread about you by - of all things - xenos.

"On the world of 42 Hydra Tertius, I met a xeno organization known as the Cabal. They showed me, and a few of my operatives, a vision, through a machine called the Acuity. It was the sort of vision that left no doubt, in my mind, that it was true. It showed, to be precise, Horus leading an uprising against the Imperium - for completely different reasons, and with completely different allies, than was actually the case. In this vision, it was the Warmaster and not the Emperor who made deals with Warp entities. The Acuity showed me that the only hope for the galaxy was to stand alongside Horus and ensure the galaxy was conquered by Chaos, after which humanity would be destroyed but xeno species could survive. The alternative was a galaxy entirely gone.

"I agreed, with a heavy heart, to the Cabal's plan. It was the purest moment of utter stupidity in my long life. I did not fall to a small lie, but to the most absurd, gigantic one possible. And yet - reality is even more absurd, is it not? But I will not make the mistake I previously did, and consider fighting for evil in the name of xenos. I will fight, as I must, for mankind. And that means I will stand with you, Horus, against the galaxy-destroying threat that is the Primordial Annihilator that is the Emperor. Hydra Dominatus."

If the other Primarchs were shocked at Alpharius's admission, that was secondary, or perhaps tertiary, before the question of Horus Lupercal's rebellion. They stood opposite Horus's group. Sanguinius faced Horus, Russ and Corax to his right, Guilliman and Perturabo to his left.

They all stood like that for several minutes, thinking, in silence. Each did their best not to contemplate a battle, and no weapons were drawn, and yet each, subconsciously, considered just that possibility. The two sides seemed evenly matched, or close to it. Horus and Sanguinius were equals at the top of Primarch possibility. Alpharius was one of the weaker Primarchs, martially, but Magnus had his psychic abilities. And this was Horus's ship, and that would probably matter as well. But no one made any true decision based on who would win a fight. This was no time to make choices based on self-preservation. Even one Legion could easily tip the balance of a future war, especially if more Primarchs joined Horus's side. And each of the ten would rather die for humanity than live to fight against it.

And then Russ walked from his place to the room's center.

"In the wolf packs of Fenris," he stated, "the alpha rules. The alpha is the most powerful wolf, in a combination of body and mind. But, of course, which wolf is the most powerful changes over time. And so the alpha can be challenged, and often is for good reason. When the pack is led wrongly, even if the alpha is bodily strong, a challenge of mental skill can still dethrone the pack leader.

"That is what we are doing, in an infinitely more sophisticated and complicated way. We see an Emperor that may not be fit, anymore, to rule. And so we howl our defiance. Perhaps the Emperor is still strong in both body and mind. But we are human, or rather transhuman, and thus we measure strength by other measures as well. Will. Ethics. Ideology. And we challenge the Emperor to a contest in civilization.

"And so I will back your challenge, Lupercal. It will be a costly one, as challenges always are, but it is also necessary. And it tests not only the Emperor and yourself, and all of us, but also humanity. But, perhaps, when the storm lifts, the new dawn will shine even brighter than the one we leave behind."

And the Wolf King walked, and stood to Alpharius's right.

It took only a few seconds for Guilliman to replace him in the strategium's center. "They call me," he said, "sometimes, the Ultimate Warrior or the Battle King; but those are names that apply just as well, or better, to others among us. But I am also known, and this pleases me much more, as the Avenging Son. Konor's son.

"And the Consul that raised me told me, not long before I left for the war in Illyrium, a story of his own youth. He told me of a lost structure, somewhere in the wilds of Illyrium. It was a silver-colored tower, as big as a city, built as a series of thirteen concentric cylinders on top of one another, each one smaller than the one below it. There were paintings, even, of it, many truly beautiful. But when I arrived in Illyrian, and talked to the local tribesmen, I found out that the legend was just that. The tower had never existed.

"So, when I came to power over Macragge, I decided to build the tower myself. It stands there today, one of the arcologies in northern Macragge, and in my frank opinion the most beautiful of the lot. I placed the pinnacle of the tower onto it, with my own hands, a few weeks before the Emperor arrived and took me to join the Great Crusade.

"That is what we are capable of, at our most basic, before even being introduced to the technology of the Imperium. Ultramar is prosperous, and though it certainly benefits from the Imperium, it does not critically need it. Likewise, we ourselves do not need to bow when doing so would be detrimental to the good of the galaxy. The Great Crusade has done good; but we are more than crusaders.

"I stand with you, Warmaster, for the sake of life. Because the Astartes are capable, should be capable, of more than death. And the Primarchs, so much more than Astartes, must certainly be more than murderers. Yes, the path of destruction is tempting, and even Dorn and Ferrus, it seems, have chosen it. But I will not. I stand with you, Warmaster, in part for vengeance against murdered worlds - but mostly, for justice towards surviving ones."

Guilliman walked and stood to Jaghatai's left. But the remaining three Primarchs did not move.

"Why, Horus?" Sanguinius asked with infinite sadness. For a while, there was silence.

"This is treachery," Corax eventually stated.

"Aye," Perturabo said, "there is no other word for it."

"But there is," Horus said, and all eyes in the room swiveled to the Warmaster once again. "Some would call this treachery, but this is not what the Imperium would describe it as. Blasphemy, the Emperor would say. Sacrilege, he would dub it. Aye - to the Imperium, this is not treachery. It is heresy."

A few seconds later, Corvus Corax sighed and walked to the center of the strategium.

"This is treachery," he said, "one way or another. But sometimes, treachery is necessary.

"I backed the Emperor when he promised to help me rebuild Kiavahr, and bring peace to Deliverance and the planet it orbited. The reason, of course, that it was at war at all was the rebellion I launched. But long before Father came to the system, I remember one of my first fathers, my fourth mentor, Alvpixx, a political prisoner who was at one point a leading reformer in one of the Tech-Guilds. He was a brilliant administrator, but due to various intrigues and his own compassion for the slaves of Lycaeus, he ended up exiled, and ultimately sentenced to a lifetime of harsh labor.

"But by the time the rebellion had begun, the political situation below had changed. My mentor was called back, and named the heir to his guild. His position was largely that of a figurehead, but it was indisputable that he was treated well, and had real power. Daus, the new leader of his guild, became if anything a friend. Nevertheless, Alvpixx had never told anyone of me. And when the rebellion began, he led that small fraction of his guild that was loyal to him in support of me. Daus dubbed him a traitor, and he was not wrong. In the end, he killed Alvpixx, not long before their city was destroyed by an atomic charge I sent; but Alvpixx's information was crucial to winning the war.

"Alvpixx stood with those who were his brothers in the times of hardship we all experienced on Lycaeus, over his blood family, which had all in all been good to him. I knew, at the time, that I would not have, in his place. But now, I suppose, I understand him better. He fought not for himself, and not for me, but for what he knew was right. And if I am to be half as good a man as him, I must do likewise today.

"I loved the Emperor as a father. And I firmly believe that he loved me equally. But sometimes, we must embark on a course of treachery. I stand with you, Lupercal, not for myself, and certainly not for you, and not even for an abstract humanity. I stand with you because I know that it is what is right, even if it breaks my personal code. And I will fight for that until the end - until victory, or death."

Corax walked to the other side of the room, and stood to Russ's right. Half a minute of silence later, Perturabo walked to the center of the room.

"When I first met the Emperor," the Lord of Iron announced, "I recognised him immediately as my father. But I did not simply swear an oath of loyalty. I swore, that day, the oaths of the White Order, and to fight the Great Crusade in their name.

"The White Order was an ancient Terran organization, founded in the middle of the third millennium. Most of its members were simple humans, but through any means they could, they strove to make the world a better place. The Emperor was one of the last to be inducted into it, in its waning days, thousands of years later. He was the last surviving member, until he swore me in, after I went through a phase - during my archeological studies on Terra - of fascination with it." And Perturabo ripped his right gauntlet off, revealing a white metallic ring, which depicted a prism radiating lines of light.

"Four oaths. The oath of Body: I shall fight, whenever I must, always for the might of life, against the eternity of death.

The oath of Mind: Logic shall be my foundation, and from it I shall build, through hardship, beyond the heavens.

The oath of Passion: Compassion, empathy, and love alone hold the universe together, and when they are pure, I shall embrace them without limit.

The oath of Power: I shall not strive to become a god, for a god cannot be benevolent; I shall merely try to rise upwards."

Perturabo looked around his brothers. "I have wondered, many times, whether I have truly lived up to those oaths. I have considered, many times, simply crushing the ring after a particularly brutal campaign. But now I realise that I cannot do that. The White Order cannot die, and the Emperor has betrayed its principles; every last one of them, it would seem. I have made oaths, perfect oaths that have resounded through the millennia before me and that will continue to chime until they are no longer needed. I had thought my promises to the Emperor were my most vital promises, iron I could not afford to shatter; but now I realise there are more important oaths I have made. So I stand with you, Warmaster Horus Lupercal. Iron within. Iron without."

He walked to Guilliman's left, and only Sanguinius remained. The Great Angel looked at the scene, with the sadness of eternal doom. He rested a hand on the pommel of his sword, causing everyone in the room to tense.

"Brother," he said, and all knew he was referring to Horus, "despite what you may think, the Emperor was still right to name you Warmaster. I would have fallen to this madness more easily than you."

"No, Sang," Horus responded. "You were the proper choice, always. You would see the truth of Father's fall, and explain it, more clearly than I ever could."

And Sanguinius, tears visible in his eyes, walked straight forward and embraced the Warmaster.

"I can still sense your lies," he said with a slight smile, though the tears had not vanished. "And if you were not lying before, if you are still the same Horus as you always have been... then this choice between Imperial and renegade paths is no choice at all. I stand with you, brother Horus. Like always. Even if our father is gone."

Horus paused. "I was not lying to you," he said, "you know. About being Warmaster."

"Of course you weren't," Sanguinius said. "You were lying, like you always have been lying about this subject, to yourself."

* * *

><p>Kharn paced his quarters like a caged animal. Every night, since the slaying of those who did not comply with the new order, and indeed intermittently since the modification of the Butcher's Nails, he had begun to receive recurring dreams of a mighty being, encased in bronze armour and sitting on a brass throne atop a mound of skulls. Blood flowed all around him, and all manners of warriors saluted the being, yelling chants in his honour. He had begun to experience waking visions too; everywhere he went, he saw this being calling him, and not just him, but also his battle brothers too.<p>

Every World Eater he had asked had mentioned seeing this deity in their dreams; and not only was he calling to them, showing them the path of the warrior, but he seemed to know each and every one of them by name, including their heritage and their battle honours. It was as if he was calling to them, with pride and martial honour, something the other Legions knew nothing about. None of them had ever been thrown into the fires by their Primarch like the World Eaters. How many worlds had they brought into compliance, how many worlds had they punished in the Emperor's name, and how many of them had fallen in the process?

And yet, they were still the barbarians of the Legions, the ones that everyone scorned and feared because of the implants, the berserkers that no one knew how to control but could use to their whims.

He let the growl leave his throat, as the anger of once again being (possibly) used by the other Primarchs. They were warriors, not jail wardens, and despite Angron's happiness at the Emperor's acceptance, Kharn felt that as much as the Emperor had given them with one hand, he had taken away with the other.

They needed to stop being pawns. They were World Eaters; and yet he let the voice enter his head once more, because it soothed him. Like all of his brothers that had chosen to follow the voice, he was beginning to find comfort in it, for it reminded him of his warrior nature and his martial honour.

He sank to his knees and banged his head against the wall as his implants started reacting to the voice in his head. Everything he knew as a warrior was becoming blurred into one murderous red haze; all he wanted was blood and bone, to place at his father's feet and at the throne of the being that called to him. He threw his head back and roared.

**"Blood for Angron…Skulls for Angron…. Blood for the Blood God…. Skulls for the Skull Throne!"**

* * *

><p>"We could gain much from starting this war in secrecy," Horus said. "An unexpected strike against the Imperium; perhaps imitate a smaller rebellion via shock attack, then have a larger punishment fleet composed largely of renegade Legions..."<p>

"No shadows," Roboute Guilliman contradicted. "Not for myself, at least. The evidence we have seen was enough to convince Primarchs. Some subset of it could turn many guns to our cause, if we fight with honour. And a turned gun is worth two destroyed ones. Let us spread the truth, rather, throughout the worlds of the Imperium."

Horus nodded. "You are right, I suppose. A strategy of shadows would hurt us politically, in these circumstances, more than it would help us militarily. Perhaps some Legions should still pretend to delay their decision, though. To create an image of Primarchs flocking to our side. Either way, I would much prefer to have more information on what the Imperium is doing."

Magnus sat forward and clasped his fingers together. "Let me talk to the Urizen."

"Why?" Mortarion asked.

"Actually, yes." Horus moved around and placed a hand on Magnus's shoulder. "I am well-aware of how much Lorgar respects you and looks to you; after all, you were with Father when he discovered Lorgar."

"What will you find out?" Mortarion wanted to know.

"I was recalled to Terra," Magnus sighed, "and I disobeyed to come here… I doubt any other of the Primarchs not in this room would trust me with any information. But Lorgar will not lie to me, and we have a special trans-astropathic channel for such matters. I will find out anything I can, Mortarion."

"Do it, brother; then let us know what occurs."

The Crimson King blinked in surprise at the Death Lord calling him brother, in a non-accusatory tone, for the first time in years. Magnus got up; and to everyone's surprise, the Wolf King rose with him. "I will accompany you, Magnus; Lorgar cannot lie to you, no, but he could deceive you with truths; and I can smell such things." And, of course, Russ was worried about Magnus's sorcery; but by his tone, the Primarchs could tell that was not his primary consideration.

"As you wish, brother."

The two Primarchs walked out side by side, peacefully, and Alpharius allowed a rare smile to cross his face. "Well, who would have thought that?"

"Indeed," Jaghatai smirked.

* * *

><p>The bridge crew of the <em>Conqueror<em> did not dare to utter a word, as Angron's constant presence was both terrible and intimidating. Like his sons aboard the vessel, some change had occurred in the Primarch's mind, and the human crew were well-aware of the chained violence within the Primarch even in better times. What they did not like now was that it had become so much more then that; and as the Red Angel paced the length of the bridge, they kept their eyes on their work, unwilling to meet his gaze for fear of being on the end of this redoubled rage that was bubbling under the surface of the Primarch's eyes.

The vox commander nervously handed a data slate to the watch officer, who saw it was for Angron's eyes only. Swallowing his fear, he turned to where the hulking figure of the Lord of the World Eaters stood. He walked over and bowed low.

"For your eyes, Lord."

Angron grunted and took the slate; he accessed the information and read the contents, then turned to where Kharn stood.

"It seems that we are to be unleashed once more." The smile that crossed his face was feral and bloodlustful. "Magnus has defied the Emperor, and we have been ordered to teach him a lesson"

Despite himself, Kharn smiled a little at the thought of being unleashed against brother Astartes. "What do we do?"

"We are to destroy his power base at Prospero, and take the witches back to Terra for the Emperor's needs."

"And if they refuse?"

"We kill them all. Head for Prospero with all speed, Kharn; and let the other vessels know. We are unleashed."

"Yes, Lord."

Angron finally sat down and re-read his orders. This was not another Maragara, or some such game of deceit; merely a war, the most bloody one possible.

Yes, this was more like it.

* * *

><p>The smell of arcana assaulted Leman Russ's nostrils, and he snorted distastefully. The room itself was arranged in what appeared to the Wolf King to be an eternal spiral, with Magnus in the centre. They had returned to the Thousand Sons' vessel in silence, and moved through the <em>Photep<em> to Magnus's private stronghold together, much to the surprise of the Thousand Sons aboard.

They were overjoyed to see their father; but when they saw their uncle, trepidation gnawed at them. There had long been distrust and something between apathy and rancor between the two Legions. To see the Wolf King accompany their father, as a brother in arms and not an executioner or a hateful rival, was indeed a story to be told when they returned to Prospero.

When he had entered the room, Magnus had told Leman to remain where he was. They could have gone through the Astropathic choir, but both brothers had agreed that it was not a good idea to let the choirmaster (or anyone else) know what was going on just yet. It was hard enough for the Primarchs to comprehend; for mortals, it would be devastating. Besides, the Choir would be too slow.

Magnus asked Russ to remain silent at all times; should there be any subterfuge that he could smell or sense that might otherwise bypass the Crimson King, then he was to tell him when the communion was over. Lorgar, Magnus suspected, would be much less forthcoming if he knew he was talking to two primarchs and not one.

Russ agreed; and although he did not feel comfortable in these surroundings, he stuck to his oath. In truth, despite his very real revulsion, he also felt a hint of fascination about what he was witnessing.

Magnus closed his eyes and took himself through the Enumerations required for his task, an exercise that came as easily to him as a babe taking its mother's milk. His sons were all powerful psykers, but in their own proficiency; the Crimson King was the master of all. He allowed his mind to travel the Great Ocean and seek out the light he wanted.

Russ looked around himself and, drawing his sword, held it tight. He had heard tales of what lurked in the Warp from his own Stormseers, and he decided it was better to be his brother's guardian in this. He kept his own thoughts within him, though, lest he disturb Magnus in any way.

The air in the sanctum of the _Infidus Imperator_ cackled; Lorgar raised his head from prayer as the smell of brimstone and power reached his nostrils. A smile crept across his face as he recognised the signature not of his father, but of one who was closer than most thought to his father's power.

Indeed, Magnus's raw talent was vaster than Lorgar could measure; but his experience in using it was millennia behind the Emperor's.

"Hello, Magnus." Lorgar rose to his full height. "How long I have waited for you to make your appearance! We have much to discuss."

Magnus materialised fully in the Primarch's sanctum, and took a look at the banners that now hung from the vaulted ceilings. The Word Bearer Hosts, of course, and the various divisions within them. A quill with a drop of blood on the nib, an open hand with an eye in the palm, a burning book and a sceptre with a crowned skull. But placed in the centre was the Aquila, and next to it, other banners that Magnus had seen in visions too terrifying for any except one of Magnus's mind. And one of them...

No. That bargain was in the past. His Legion was saved, and he would yet save himself.

"What have you done, brother?" Magnus asked as he took in the sights around him. "Father is no god."

Lorgar shook his head. "That's been the trouble, Magnus; oh my most beloved brother, you, with a mind that is second only to our sacred father, should see that he has accepted his destiny."

Magnus arched a transparent eyebrow. "And who else has fallen for this big lie, Lorgar?"

"Lie? This is no lie, Magnus; Father returned from his travels to accept his role in the grand scheme of things. Even now, people in the Imperium are accepting our father is a god and are building temples in his name. All he wants is for you to return home to take up your rightful place. All of us are gods, after all, in mortals' eyes." Lorgar altered his cadence a little. "Brother, Dorn, Angron, Curze, el'Jonson, Manus, Fulgrim and Vulkan accept this is the way of things." All those that Magnus had seen in that fragment of a vision, plus Vulkan, whom he had seen something unclear about.

"What happened to Vulkan and his sons, Lorgar?"

Lorgar chuckled. "Oh, Magnus, he made a decision that had to be made, hard as it was to accept. It is one that you will soon have to make, you and the others. We are the champions of the quintet of gods. No longer will the Astartes and their fathers be held to ransom by the Mechanicum, for instance: the Iron Hands control Mars."

Magnus narrowed his eyes. "You think that Ferrus controlling Mars will bring the Mechanicum to heel? Then you are sorely mistaken. Mars is but one Forge World. All this is not the proper way of things, Lorgar; I warned you, decades ago, not to look for answers in the Great Ocean. There are things that reside in there that will lie and cheat their way into your heart, and even a Primarch cannot resist the call forever." Even, it seemed, an Emperor.

"You do not understand, Magnus; Father rules in the Warp, and the other gods within smile upon us all. You, who have sought the workings of the Great Ocean, should know not all beings within are malevolent; they wish only to embrace us and guide us as the natural rulers of the universe. Father has agreed; even now, great temples rise up in his and the gods' names, and people flock to worship the Emperor and his sons."

Magnus heaved a sigh and lowered his gaze. "Oh Lorgar, my most favoured brother, this is a road to ruin; and I fear you have been blinded."

"Blinded? I have never been blinded." Lorgar set his mouth straight. "I have always had my eyes open." He walked around his sanctuary, pointing to newly painted frescos on his vaulted walls. "For millennia upon millennia, humans have worshipped a myriad of gods and goddesses, deities for every aspect of their life, from hunting to the Sun. For hundreds of years they worshipped a man as the son of their dominant god, and soon that faith became the most powerful…"

"I am well aware of the religious history of old Terra, Lorgar; and I am, apparently unlike you, aware of the folly it brought, the wars and deaths when religions clashed. This is what is going to happen: those that side with Father will be corrupted into one or the other gods' service, especially Angron and Curze, who have no real love for the Emperor."

Lorgar laughed. "Oh, brother, that was the past; Angron and Konrad have come to peace with Father and are enacting his will, taking his word to the Imperium in the Great Crusade's new direction." His expression soured. "But you will never join us, even if I tell you that the other path leads to your destruction. I am sorry, Magnus, but this was our last hope. The order has been signed, and I cannot take it back, given the path you have chosen. You are too far from your home to save it - Isstvan, no? - but I owe it to our vanished friendship to tell you. Prospero will burn, Crimson King. The Twelfth Legion has been sent to punish your Legion for its disobedience."

Magnus picked something up in the current of Lorgar's thoughts; and like a thunderbolt, his mind was assaulted by the image of the entire World Eater fleet, heading towards Prospero.

"What have you done, Lorgar?!" he seethed.

"Father believes you should pay for disobeying him; and he has sent Angron to bring your Legion to heel. This is the end, my friend. Prospero burns."

Magnus vanished to Lorgar's gaze, sad but resolute.

Russ hurried forwards and caught his brother as he fell forward, his soul retuning to his body.

"Steady, brother."

"Prospero… oh by the Ocean, they have sent Angron to Prospero!"

Russ snarled and spoke into his vox feed. "All sons, this is your father and your uncle; we head to Prospero." He looked back at his brother. "The rest of the Rout and the Thousand Sons will join us; we will try and save your world, brother."

"But we will be late... yet not too late, I would wager, to avenge the dream." Magnus got up. "Angron is not known for taking prisoners unless he has to; so if I can't kill him, then I will die with my sons."

"Magnus, that is nonsense."

"Promise me, Russ, on your oath, that if we arrive after the Twelfth Legion, you will let me deal with Angron and not interfere."

Russ snarled a little, but reluctantly gave his oath. "I recognise it is a matter of honour," he said after it. "But we will yet ride this storm, Magnus. If anyone can reach Prospero before Angron, it will be you, Crimson King. We will ride this storm, and we will survive it. Until the new dawn."

"Until the dawn," Magnus accepted.


	12. Chapter Eleven

The figure sat on what could only be described as a perfect structure. Nothing had ever been seen like it, not in any golden, ancient days of Terra's history; and, Dorn conceded, nothing like it would ever be seen again. In fact, aside from the mighty Imperial Palace that spanned the globe from east to west and back again, this had to be the singular most amazing achievement that his father had ever created.

The Golden Throne shone, and it shone with the light of the Warp unveiled.

Dorn still remained on one knee, as he had when he had entered, over two days ago; but, as befitted a warrior, his patience was infinite, and he had waited for the Emperor to return from his odyssey of the soul. The Emperor had left the building of the faith in the hands of Lorgar and the Word Bearers, who even now were returning to their sacred place in the new way of the Great Crusade.

Curze and his Night Lords were conquering worlds, as ever, and bringing the Emperor's wrath to those that dared stray from the path that was now set before them. Although, Rogal Dorn had considered, perhaps Curze was a little envious of Angron's task.

Fulgrim and his Emperor's Children were, once again, bringing perfection to the colonies. They focused, more than ever before, on the aesthetic pleasures in life; they conquered worlds and then, instead of enslaving them, brought them greater ideals of art and literature, so that future generations would receive the Emperor's and the Gods' benedictions to brighten their lives.

Ferrus and his Iron Hands had Martian situation firmly under control, although it had disturbed Dorn to learn that some of the Tech-Priests were waging a (doomed, Ferrus had made clear) war on the surface. Those that would not acknowledge his father and their Omnissiah as one and the same being continued in their defiance.

The Lion and his Dark Angels were already bringing the wrath of mankind, above all, to the alien scum who dared to challenge man's right to rule the stars, as well as bringing worlds around Caliban under his heel and building a sub-empire that could rival the Ultramarines' Five Hundred Worlds.

Vulkan and his Salamanders, recovering from the cull, were even now indenturing the world of Nocturne and the surrounding systems into accordance with the Emperor's new divine purpose.

Dorn's own Imperial Fists were guarding Terra like the Home Front of the Novopermian Empire, or the Praetorians of the ancient Romanii; and his Black Templars were expunging the unholy like avenging angels of triumphant gods.

Angron and his World Eaters were days away from Prospero; and it was now that the Emperor, having returned in spirit and then absorbed this information in the time it took for Dorn to draw breath, opened his eyes.

"Rise, my beloved Praetorian." The Emperor's voice sounded powerful, more then it ever had before. Dorn did as his father commanded and waited to hear what he had to say. "Has Lorgar informed Angron that Magnus must be kept alive?"

"He has, my Emperor. However, Lorgar believes the other Primarchs now know of what has occurred. Unfortunately, Father, I was not careful enough when I recovered the artifact you required from Venus IX."

The Emperor nodded and, rising, he made his way to where Dorn was standing and rested a hand on his shoulder. "The fault is not yours; it was only a matter of time before you brothers discovered what had occurred."

"My Emperor is too kind."

"You will punish yourself, Rogal, and I will not have that. It will be soon time to decide who will follow the new order and who will not."

"Father. If I may… Angron was not the wisest choice to collect Magnus. You know what will happen."

"I could hardly send Russ."

"Even so, perhaps I should have gone, or Vulkan."

The Emperor shrugged a little and guided Dorn to a model of his revised vision for the future. He took as much delight in telling its details as the Praetorian did in listening to them, but as he continued, Rogal glanced into his father's eyes; and what he saw there caused him to shudder.

Suddenly, he was very glad he had decided to follow his father.

* * *

><p>Magnus paced the length of the bridge of the <em>Photep<em>. Though normally a calm and placid man of learning he was, like any of his brothers, a powerhouse of violence when provoked; and right now, he was trying hard to comprehend what was happening.

Lorgar. He had treated Lorgar more like a beloved son then a brother, sometimes. They had been close; he had been far closer to Lorgar than to, perhaps, any of his other brothers, for Lorgar had not judged him and had listened to him when he guided him in his ways.

He was closer to Lorgar, it sometimes felt, then he was to his own father; so why, why had his brother so casually informed him that Angron was en route to destroy all he had built? He was not sure if, even with the Warp-jet he was crafting to speed up the armada, he would arrive in time to save his world, his sons, and his people. And though he did his best to focus on the jet, other thoughts conspired in his vast mind.

Horus had offered his aid; but with Russ and the Rout behind them, he had declined it. After all, he had a feeling that this was just the start. If Prospero was under threat, then why would it stop before his other brothers' home worlds?

He had used whatever powers he had to get them this far; and for once, there was no complaint from the Wolves (or the Rout, Vlka Fenryka, or whatever else they called themselves) about augmenting the Navigators' speed. In truth, he had found more of a kinship in Leman's savage honesty than he had ever expected. It was the only good thing to come out of all this.

"My lord," Akenaara - the vox deputy - bowed low as he turned, "Lord Russ wishes to converse with you in private."

Magnus nodded and headed into one of his private strategiums, and took the communication. The face of his brother appeared on the screen, and Magnus patiently waited for Russ to say what he wanted to say.

"Magnus," Russ gruffly spoke. "We are four days from Prospero; I implore you to think again about tackling Angron on his own terms."

"Leman, we have discussed this…."

The Wolf King's countenance darkened, and the barely held-back savagery - though Magnus wasn't sure how real it was, it was dangerous either way - lit his eyes. Magnus was beginning to wonder if the Wolf King was actually looking forward to pitting his considerable violent urges against the Red Angel.

"Crimson King." That took Magnus back; usually, Russ called him Magnus, and in past years, more often then not, Witch or Cyclops. "If you die, who will face the Emperor? If our father has truly lost his mind, as seems to be the situation, you are the only one who would be able to meet him on his own terms."

Magnus bit back what he was going to say and was silent for a while. The Wolf King was indeed correct, even if it surprised the Crimson King to hear him state it. All the Primarchs had some measure of psychic ability. None of them, however, were as close to their father as Magnus was in that sphere; and, should the master of mankind choose to use his considerable and terrifying power against them, then without Magnus they would not be able to fight on that dimension. Not even the Angel, who had some measure of power, was currently on anything near a comparable level.

He rubbed his single eye, and Leman could see how tired he was and waited accordingly. It was obvious that he was weighing up what the Wolf King had told him; Leman was pleased to see that his words, for once, had hit some chord within the one-eyed giant. It was unusual for the master of Fenris and the master of Prospero to see eye-to-eye on anything, but over the last few days, they had reached an understanding. Perhaps they had not truly bonded, but their relations had thawed.

"Very well, Leman; come across with your entourage, and we will see what we can do."

"You have made the right decision, brother."

"Leman."

"Magnus?"

"My priority is to save my people and my sons – I do not want your suppositious wolves settling old scores." Magnus's tone brooked no argument, and the intent was clear. All animosity was to end here; they needed to unite in the face of a common enemy stronger than either of them had met before. Even if that enemy wore a brother's face.

"You have my word, Crimson King."

The Wolf King's face vanished from view, and Magnus stood, staring at the screen, for several long moments, before rejoining his crew and making arrangements for the Rout and their King to board.

Russ was a friend, almost, now, more than he had ever been.

But that brought Magnus no comfort.

* * *

><p>The fleet of the War Hound himself assembled in the Warp. Like a flotilla of sharks, they were ready to emerge from the great, colourful ocean. There was no need for mass meetings or tactical surveillance; their orders were clear. They would wipe the Thousand Sons from existence, like the other two brothers that no one spoke about, and any survivors would be fodder for his sons to play with.<p>

No one disturbed the mighty Red Angel as he sat in his command throne, like some great predator-king from ancient Terra or modern Catachan. His face no longer radiated pent-up anger, a dormant storm that was ready to be unleashed on any unsuspecting crewmember, or even on one of his own sons who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead, his permanently violent features seemed calm and serene. The smell of battle was in the air, and this was what Angron lived for.

To spill the blood of his enemies, to tear them limb from limb and to hear their screams across the battlefield. To cut the braid with his sons and his allies and to teach his foes - his brow furrowed as for a moment he struggled to recall who he was doing this for, his father or the new patron of the World Eaters. He shrugged mentally; it mattered not, the blood would flow in both their names. His dark, soulless eyes narrowed as he contemplated Magnus's fate.

He and Ahriman, the Urizen had said, were to be kept alive and returned to Terra in chains. The other witches, he could do whatever he wanted with; and he had ordered his sons to burn the bastards out of their homes or their armour, whichever caused the most pain and blood to flow.

"My Lord."

Angron turned his serene gaze on the mortal that stood before him. He tried to recall his name; Commander - Commander Darian, that was it, the first officer - but where was the Admiral? He thought about asking, but then recalled with clarity that he had killed the man when he had dared voice his disapproval of such action against another Legion.

He gave a mirthless half-smile as he recalled the satisfying feeling of pushing his thumbs slowly into the mortal's eyes, or perhaps squeezing his head from the back, until the fragility of the human skull smashed like a ripe melon in his giant hands. He suspected he had in reality killed the admiral painlessly, but those sadistic memories seemed, at that moment, to beckon. Which was wrong - he was not Curze. His duty was simply to kill, not to torment.

He took the data-slate and read it; ninety-six percent of his Legion was with him, and that would make the conquest of Prospero more exciting.

"Translation into real space in five-point-four hours, my lord."

Angron nodded and set the data-slate to one side; it required no answer, for it was for his information only. Then, as he had done again and again since receiving the Nails modifications, he went back to watching the Warp. Soon, very soon, he would prove to all his brothers that it was not the Rout they should fear, but the World Eaters, the red avatars of war.

* * *

><p>Mars was in flames. The Red Planet was now a mass of oranges and yellows, the night sky becoming a kaleidoscope of colours. The war that still raged across its surface had taken its toll on the Mechanicum; those that refused to worship the Emperor as a god continued to battle against those, led by the Iron Hands, who believed in his vision.<p>

Gabriel Santar stood before the iron doors and read the inscriptions with the ease of one fluent in the language of the Tech-Priests. Beside him stood Brother-Sergeant Keman, his face a mass of bruises and blood due to the defense of the forge above. Any wounds he had sustained were now healing; but, Santor noted with irony, one of the sergeant's arms was missing. Even now, one was being made for him; and like any other Astarte, he shrugged off the loss of a limb, doubly so as a son of the Gorgon.

He awaited, with honour, the cybernetic replacement that awaited him; like all the Legion, he saw the flesh as weak and strove to be one with the machine, like thousands of others. Santor heaved a sigh, heavy with fatigue and perhaps a mix of boredom. It was not Keman that concerned him.

"What are we to do here, Lord?" Keman asked his Captain.

"Here there be Dragons," Santor whispered, quoting a phrase he had heard or seen once, not sure if it was one or the other, perhaps both. It was in the dreams, either way. Keman looked puzzled at the First Captain, who shook his head and smiled a little. "We are to ensure that the Dragon remains sleeping."

"But our father said not to go in," Keman insisted.

Santor ignored him; he needed to concentrate. It was bad enough with the dreams that plagued him day in and night out, which were causing him to wonder if he was going insane. Perhaps he was. Perhaps they had all gotten some sort of malady that had caused them to turn on their cousins. All he knew was that this was wrong; he had killed many that spoke against the Emperor before, but this was more than that. Even now, he was beginning to see subtle changes in those around him, all foretold by the dreams. It was almost as if they were not who they once were, but rather had become someone else.

Santor was a loyal son of Medusa, and he had been the Gorgon's favoured son, but now he was a broken man. Everything he believed in was long gone. The Iron Hands had long held an affinity with the Mechanicum and they had worked hand in hand; many of the Legions had sent their Techmarines here, but the Iron Hands were always regarded as closer than that. Closer to Mars. Closer to Adept Semyon, and the Dragon.

Santor closed his eyes; before opening the door, he turned his bolter on Keman and blew his head clean off his shoulders. Blood and brain matter exploded across a narrow area, covering the front of the First Captain's armour and turning it to a rust colour, the colour of Mars itself.

His brothers were mad, the whole bloody lot of the Astartes had gone mad, because this was not what an Astarte was wrought for. Kill the alien and the traitor - not brother Astarte, nor innocent priest of Mars. The galaxy was not a place for him anymore, but his last act would be to avenge the dead and defy this new religion, if that was what it was. His fractured mind had held onto the thought that the Imperial Truth was all that mattered, though he was no longer quite sure which of the two. Was it most important to fall under the old, or to die against the new?

He stood back as the doors opened and began to walk through. He was no more then halfway through when a gruff yet gentle voice called to him. He turned to see Ferrus Manus behind him, with his own Terminators of the First Company, all with Bolters trained on him.

"Gabriel, what are you doing?" Ferrus wanted to know.

Through sheer force of will, Santar resumed his walk, wiling his entire body to stop trembling at the sheer joy of being near his father. He kept his back to them all, and the tears began to run down his face. The Gorgon stared, mouth open, as he realised what his son was going to do. He ordered the Terminators to open fire; as painful as the idea of gunning down Gabriel Santar was to him, he could not let him go any further.

Hundreds of years of techno-evolution had begun here, and the gifts that the Legions wielded were in part from here. Santar jerked a little, but his own Terminator Armour held true - until he was faced with the hammer. He flew forwards as the Primarch smashed his hammer, _Shadowheart_, into the First Captain's back; and then Ferrus stood over him, as a crippled Santar moved round to face his father, tears of blood steaming down his face.

Ferrus crouched down. "Why, Gabriel? I told Lorgar none of my sons would betray me."

Santor made a hawking sound and coughed up blood and phlegm; his body had been crushed in that one blow. "I cannot live with this lie, Father," he responded.

"What lie?" Ferrus lay his hammer down and brought his First Captain to him, laying him gently out, his head resting on the Primarch's lap. "Tell me who has poisoned my favoured son."

His dreams had; the Truth had. What lie? The lie of Mars. The Grand Lie, the first lie. Semyon had been extremely cooperative. Too cooperative. Who had poisoned Santar?

Everyone; but only one person fatally.

Gabriel smirked ironically. "You, lord," he coughed. "I cannot believe that the Iron Hands would betray everything we were ever told to believe in - but we have, I have, and I will die knowing that I am a man without a home."

Santor closed his eyes and coughed up more blood; when he opened them again, his gaze had hardened.

"I do not know who you are anymore, Lord; you are truly the Gorgon of myth." And with that, he died.

Manus got to his feet and stared at the body for what seemed an age. His wisest son, his favoured son, eager to die rather than work the new dream of the Emperor. How may more felt like that, and would he have to cull his legion like so many others had?

Yes. There was really no choice.

He clenched his fists and snarled. "Go through the ranks and cull any who do not follow the new Imperial Truth. Tell the Iron Fathers none are to be spared."

Santar had rejected him, and the Legion. Ferrus's mind raced through the current situation, but his closed eyes saw only darkness. Darkness - and one other thing.

Mars, shining scarlet with blood and iron, against a starless sky.

* * *

><p>TO BE CONTINUED in the third book of the Renegades Saga, <em>The Fate of Prospero<em>.


End file.
